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Synopsis
Fourteen HOT paranormal alpha-male romances and six additional kick-ass paranormal romance tales bundled together in one of the steamiest collections to date!With twenty-one novels and novellas and over one million seductive words of fiction, this paranormal romance boxed set will leave you Happily Ever Alpha.
These hot heroes and tough as nails heroines will steal your heart and make your beg for more.
How about a little Heat to keep you warm this Winter?
Our first tagline was so hot, Amazon wouldn’t let us publish it here, but you can find that same heat burning inside the pages of this set. Treat yourself to a varied collection of hot, steamy, and passionate paranormal tales. This satisfying collection has something to excite all readers.
With sexy shifters, hot vampires, wickedly cool witches, and so much more, this boxed set will has titles that will either warm you up or set you on fire—Take your pick!
For a limited time, you can enjoy books from today's NY Times, USA Today, and Amazon Bestselling authors!
When purchased separately, these books cost over $50! But they are yours today for less than $1.
Every selection in this rare, limited edition paranormal romance boxed set are full-length novels and novellas!
Save over $50! This set is only available at this price for a limited time, so order your copy before it's gone!
The Stories: Happily Ever Alpha
The Witch Who Cried Wolf | A Damned Deed | The BBW and the Beast | Black In White ☀ | Witch Hunter ☀ | Taken by the Beast | Forbidden | Ardent ☀ | Wolf's Desire ☀ | Heart of Stone | Creature of Habit ☀ | One Night With A Vampire | Hounded ☀ | Beast ☀ | Inkubus | The Witches of Dark Root ☀ | Just a Little Nudge | Axiom | Fire: The Elementals Book One ☀ | Saving Grace ☀ | Jaguar at the Portal |
The Witch Who Cried Wolf by Sarah MAKELA
Be careful what you wish for…A potion gone wrong: Mia Brooks is a reluctant witch, with powers that she tries to hold in check. But when her magic gets mixed up, supernatural forces are unleashed and suddenly she’s being pursued by werewolves—that she didn’t even realize existed…
Hidden emotions: Ethan Parker, Mia’s brother’s best friend, is home from deployment for the holidays. Mia’s not only hiding from werewolves, she’s trying to keep her feelings for Ethan secret; it would be a disaster if he knew she’s been nursing a long-time crush…
The power of love: things take a terrifying turn when Mia and Ethan are attacked by a werewolf. Ethan is amazed when Mia reveals her paranormal prowess as she tries to shield them from danger. But can she really protect them from the darkness that lurks? And how can he tell her that, for ages, he’s been denying what he really wants? Mia...
(Series: Cry Wolf, #1. Published 30 November 2013, 186 pages.)
A Damned Deed by Michele BARDSLEY
When Athena Davis is sent to bring in murderer Adam Deed, she gets more than she bargained for. Adam is not at all what she expects, and neither are her unexpected guests, a woman and a young boy on the run from a cult.Adam may not be a murderer, but he has secrets--the kind that can kill. When he reveals he plans to take out the cult's leader and asks for her help, Athena must decide if she will cut and run ... or stay and fight.
The BBW and the Beast by Sylvia FROST
A Shifter Retelling of Beauty and the Beast.When Bel's father ruins a million dollar rose, she makes a bargain with a werewolf who wants her for his own.
Black In White by JC ANDRIJESKI
"My name is Black. Quentin Black..."Gifted with an uncanny sense about people, psychologist Miri Fox works as an off and on profiler for the police. So when they think they've finally nailed the "Wedding Killer," she agrees to check him out, using her gift to discover the truth.
But the suspect, Quentin Black, isn't anything like Miri expects. He claims to be hunting the killer too and the longer Miri talks to him, the more determined she becomes to uncover his secrets.
When he confronts her about the nature of her peculiar "insight," Miri gets pulled into Black's bizarre world and embroiled in a game of cat and mouse with a deadly killer--who still might be Black himself. Worse, she finds herself irresistibly drawn to Black, a complication she doesn't need with a best friend who's a homicide cop and a boyfriend in intelligence.
Can Miriam see a way out or is her future covered in Black?
[Series: Quentin Black Mystery, #1. Published 8 September 2015, 238 pages]
Excerpt
Two
FIRST INTERVIEW
HE LOOKED ME over when I walked in.
Unlike a lot of people I’d interviewed in this room, suspects and witnesses alike, he didn’t hide his appraisal. He also didn’t do anything to try and get me on his side––like smile, or make his body language more accommodating or submissive.
He didn’t try to intimidate me either, at least not that I noticed.
Again, the predominant emotion I saw in his assessment remained impatience.
He seemed, more than anything, to assume I was here to waste his time, too.
At the same time, I got the sense there was more there––more in relation to me specifically, I mean. Nothing sexual, at least I didn’t think so.
What that “more” was exactly, I had absolutely no theories at that point.
Maybe I simply wasn’t what––or who––he’d expected.
Maybe my appearance threw him.
I’m used to that, to a degree. I’m tall for a woman, almost five-nine. My mom was Native American, like I said, and from one of the plains tribes that actually had some real height on them. I’m not sure what our dad was, since I never met any of his family, but he was tall too. I’d gotten hints of his bone structure, along with my mom’s. I also got his light-hazel eyes, which people tell me are striking on me but were positively riveting on my father. My mom joked once she could have fallen in love with my father from his eyes alone.
The rest of me was my mother, according to my aunts. Straight black hair, full mouth, my sense of humor, even my curves, which were slightly less curvy from the martial arts classes, but not fully absent either.
In other words, even under all of my professional armor, I’m definitely female.
I can’t exactly hide it, even in suits and with my hair tied tightly back.
For my part, I didn’t bother to smile at him either, or do any of the usual heavy-handed shrink things to try and convince him I was “on his side” or even particularly friendly towards him. Right off, I got the feeling that those kinds of tactics wouldn’t work on this guy.
He would see right through them.
Worse, trying it would probably cause him to dismiss me, too.
So yeah, I approached him assuming he was a psychopath.
Of course, the technical term these days, at least according to the latest Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, (or “DSM” as we shrink-types called it) is “Anti-Social Personality Disorder” or ASPD. Those of us who work in forensic psych know a lot of the specific signs that go with this diagnosis––as well as ways to pick out the truly dangerous ones––but generally, there’s a longer sussing-out period involved.
The most dangerous types were harder to spot.
Often highly intelligent, deeply manipulative, glibly charming, uninterested in other people and totally unwilling to acknowledge the individual rights of anyone apart from themselves, the more dangerous individuals with anti-social personality disorder were masters at evading detection by psychs who couldn’t see past the veneer.
Narcissistic bordering on grandiose. Inflated sense of their own entitlement. Zero compunction about manipulating others. Generally lacking the capacity for love. Generally lacking the ability to feel shame or remorse. They either experienced only shallow emotions or feigned emotion altogether. They had a constant need for stimulation...
Well, you get the idea.
Truthfully, I doubted this guy would talk to me any more than he would talk to the cops.
Well, unless he decided I could help him in some way, or perhaps entertain him...since “short attention span” was often a big issue for the average psychopath. Or perhaps he would treat me differently because he wanted a female audience instead of a male one; I was reasonably certain that only male cops had been tried on him so far.
Either way, I strongly suspected I wouldn’t win him over by trying to play him for a fool, at least not right out of the gate.
I seated myself in the metal folding chair across the table from him.
I did my own quick once-over of the room, even though I’d been in here a few dozen times already––reminding myself of the location of the cameras, looking at the four corners out of habit. My eyes glanced down to where the suspect’s ankles had been cuffed, not only to one another but to metal rings in the floor. His wrist cuffs were also chained to his waist, as well as to those same rings in the floor.
Glen already assured me that the range of the chains wouldn’t allow him to reach me as long as I stayed in the chair.
Still, he’d warned me not to get any closer.
I didn’t need to be told twice. The guy looked a lot bigger from in here.
He also looked significantly more muscular.
Leaning back in the hard, metal seat, I watched those gold, cat-like eyes flicker over me. They didn’t pause anywhere for long, much less conduct one of those lecherous, lingering appraisals some convicts did in an attempt to unsettle me.
I sensed a methodicalness to his stare, instead.
That unnerved me a little, truthfully, maybe because it surprised me.
Even for a psychopath, that kind of focus was rare. Usually other people just weren’t that interesting to them.
Then again, captivity may have changed that for him, too.
My eyes took in his appearance for the second time that day, lingering on the strangely high cheekbones still colored with smears of dried blood. I saw flakes of that blood on the surface of the table too, from where it had been rubbed off by his metal cuffs.
Wincing, I glanced up to find him staring at me once more, his gold eyes bordering on thoughtful as they took in my face.
When he didn’t break the silence after a few seconds more, I leaned back more deliberately, crossing my legs in the dark-blue pantsuit I wore.
“So,” I said, sighing. “You don’t want to talk to anyone.”
I didn’t bother to state it as a question.
The man’s eyes flickered back to my face, specifically to my eyes.
After a pause, I saw a faint smile tease the edges of his lips.
“I doubt my words would be very convincing,” he said.
I must have jumped a little in my chair, but he pretended not to notice.
“...Covered in blood,” he continued, motioning with one cuffed hand, likely as much as he could, given the restraints. Still, something in the odd grace of the gesture struck me, causing me to follow it with my eyes. “...Picked up near the scene of the crime. And you have witnesses, too, I suspect? Or did those three little girls decide it wasn’t worth getting in trouble with their parents by calling the police in the wee hours of dawn?”
His words surprised me.
More, the longer he spoke.
Not only because he said them, but because they came out with a clipped, sharp accuracy and cadence. They wore the barest trace of an accent too, although it was one I couldn’t identify. His manner of speech certainly implied a greater than average amount of education.
“In any case,” the man said, leaning back so that the chains clanked at his ankles and on the table. “...I imagine I lack credibility, wouldn’t you say, doc?”
I heard murmurings of surprise through my earpiece, too.
Apparently, I’d already gotten more out of him than any of them had.
I smoothed my expression without trying to hide my own surprise. Instead, I watched him openly, letting him see me do it.
“Doc,” I said.
At his widening smile, I returned it, adding a touch of wry humor and raising an eyebrow.
“You think I am a doctor?”
“Aren’t you?” he said at once. “Military, too, I suspect. Once upon a time. I saw you checking the corners. You’ve carried a gun...haven’t you, doc? Maybe you even carry one now.” He glanced around him ruefully. “Not in here, of course.”
I shifted in my chair, not answering him.
“Aren’t you a doctor?” he prompted.
“Depends on who you ask,” I said drily, sighing a little.
Without taking my eyes off his, I leaned to the side somewhat, resting my arm on the back of the folding chair.
“Psychiatrist then,” he said, adjusting his posture as well, a perhaps intentional replication of the old psychology trick of imitating the poses of those you want to confide in you. “Or psychologist...only a real one, with a PhD. So perhaps it was a criminal psych ward where you honed your paranoia, not the military. You could be a social worker too, I suppose...although I have my doubts. You have too much of a clinical air about you, not enough of that needy, do-gooder type of saccharin that the softer arts tend to attract.” His smile sharpened. “I would say dentist, but under the circumstances...”
Again that eloquent gesture of his fingers, this time indicating the room.
“...I am thinking that is not likely.”
“I’m a psychologist,” I told him easily. “Right in one.”
“So you are here to assess me, then?” he said. “Or are they hoping the presence of an attractive female would send me frothing and panting? Get me to show my true colors? Shall I start screaming ‘Die Bitch!’ to satisfy those watching through the glass?”
I smiled again, unintentionally that time.
“If you want,” I told him, muting the smile. “Do you want me to die?”
“Not particularly,” he said.
“Really? Why not?” I said.
“I think you’re the first person I’ve seen here with an IQ above that of a balding ape. Although that one inspector...he’s got a bit of that base, instinctive kind of intellect. Only a bit, mind you. You know who I mean. Joe Handsome.”
“It’s Nick, actually,” I said, smiling in spite of myself.
“Ah, he’s a friend of yours, then?”
“Not a special friend, if that’s what you mean.”
“I didn’t, but it’s interesting information to have. Clearly the topic has come up between you, or you wouldn’t have bothered to qualify it.”
I shook my head, unimpressed with this last, and letting him see that, too.
“Really?” I said. “You’re going there?”
“Going where?”
“Discredit the female by making some disparaging reference to her sexuality? Dismiss her as an equal by highlighting her value or lack thereof as a sexual object?”
“I profoundly apologize,” he said, giving me a startled look. The surprise I could see in those almond eyes may have been mocking me, but it looked genuine. “...My comments certainly weren’t meant to be disparaging. I have no intention of resorting to such cheap tricks, doctor, simply to feel I’ve ‘outwitted’ you. Sadly, my ego won’t permit it.” Pausing, he added, “Would it help you to know I get sex on a regular basis too? I don’t know that it would demean me in your eyes or if it would come off as bragging...in any case, I did not bring up your own sexuality as anything other than a personal curiosity.”
I tilted my head, still smiling, but letting my puzzlement show.
“Why are you talking to me at all?” I asked finally.
“Why shouldn’t I talk to you?” he said. “I’ve already told you that you’re the first person to walk in here that I thought might be worth my attempting to communicate.”
“Because I’m female?” I said.
“Because you seem to be less of a fool than the rest of them,” he corrected me at once.
“But you said Nick had a mind?”
“I said he had a mind of sorts. Not the same thing at all. Although, given the nature of his intellect, he has undoubtedly chosen the right profession for himself.”
I smiled again. “I’m sure that will be quite a relief for him.”
I heard laughter in the earpiece that time, right before Nick spoke up.
“See if he’ll tell you his name,” he said to me.
“Certainly, if you really want to know,” the suspect said, before I could voice the question aloud. “My name is Black. Quentin Black. Middle initial, R.”
I stared at him, still recovering from the fact that he’d seemingly heard Nick give me an instruction through the earpiece.
Clearly, he wanted me to know he’d heard it, too.
“You heard that?” I said to him.
“Good ear, yes?” he said. Smiling, he gave me a more cryptic, yet borderline predatory look. “Less good with you, however. Significantly less good.”
He paused, studying my face with eyes full of meaning.
I almost got the sense he was waiting for me to reply...or maybe just to react. When I didn’t, he leaned back in the chair, making another of those graceful, flowing gestures with his hand.
“I find that...fascinating, doc. Quite intriguing. Perhaps that is crossing a boundary with you again, however? To mention that?”
I paused on his words, then decided to dismiss them.
“Is that a real name?” I said. “Quentin Black. That doesn’t sound real. It sounds fake.”
“Real is all subjective, is it not?”
“So it’s not real, then?”
“Depends on what you mean.”
“Is it your legal name?”
“Again, depends on what you mean.”
“I mean, could you look it up in a database and actually get a hit somewhere?”
“How would I know that?” he said, making an innocent gesture with his hands, again within the limits of the metal cuffs.
Realizing I wasn’t going to get any more from him on that line of questioning, I changed direction. “What does the ‘R’ stand for?” I said.
“Rayne.”
“Quentin Rayne Black?” I repeated back to him, still not hiding my disbelief.
“Would you believe me if I said my parents had a sense of whimsy?” he asked me.
“No,” I said.
“Would you believe that I do, then?”
I snorted a laugh, in spite of myself. I heard it echoed through the earpiece, although I heard a few curses coming from that direction, too.
I shook my head at the suspect himself, but less in a “no” that time.
“Yes,” I conceded finally. “So it is a made-up name, then?”
The man calling himself Quentin Black only returned my smile. His eyes once again looked shrewd, less thoughtful and more openly calculating.
Even so, his weird comment about “listening” came back to me.
Truthfully, he was looking at me as if he were listening very hard.
The thought made me slightly nervous.
Especially since I’d been doing the same to him from inside the observation booth.
Seeing the intelligence there, I found myself regrouping mentally as the silence stretched, reminding myself who and what I was dealing with. The fact that he’d nearly made me forget that in our back and forth of the last few moments was unnerving on its own.
I found myself looking him over deliberately, for the second time since I’d left the glass-enclosed booth behind the one-way mirror. I fought to reconcile his physical presence with the words I’d heard come out of that well-formed mouth. The two things, his physicality and his manner of speaking, didn’t really fit at all, at least not from my previous experience in these kinds of interviews.
The all-black clothing, the dense, rock-like muscles I could see under that blood-soaked shirt, the expensive leather shoes, the expensive watch, the ethnically-ambiguous but somehow feral-looking face...nothing about him really fit, from his made-up name to his wryly humorous quipping with me.
I found myself staring at that strange, somehow animal-evoking face with its abnormally high cheekbones and almond eyes, and wondered who in the hell this guy really was.
“Where are you from, Quentin?” I asked, voicing at least part of my puzzlement.
He shook his head though, that smile back to playing with the edges of his lips.
“You don’t want to tell me that?” I said.
“No,” he said. “...Clearly, I don’t.”
“What do you do for a living?” I said, trying again. “Do you have a job of some kind, Quentin? Some area of expertise you’d like to share?”
That time, he rolled his eyes openly.
Before I could respond to his obvious disdain, he let out an audible and impatient sigh.
“You’re not going to resort to shrink games on me now, are you, doc?” he said, giving me another of those more penetrating stares. “...Not so soon in our new friendship? I haven’t intimidated you already, have I?” At my silence, his voice grew bored. “The constant repetition of my given name. The clinical yet polite peppering of questions in an attempt to quietly undermine my sense of autonomy here...”
“Fine.” I held up both of my palms in a gesture of surrender. “What do you want to talk about, Mr. Black? Do you want to tell me what you were doing at the Palace of Fine Arts earlier this morning?”
“Not here,” he said cryptically, smiling at me again.
I frowned, glancing around the gunmetal gray room.
“Somewhere else, then?” I said.
“Yes,” he said. “For all of your questions, doc. Including the ones I wouldn’t answer before.”
I gave him another puzzled smile. “I hate to tell you, Mr. Black, but you’re not likely to be anyplace that is significantly different from this room anytime soon. Not in terms of a non-institutional setting...if that’s what you’re driving at.”
“It must certainly appear that way to you, yes,” he said, raising his chained wrists for emphasis and glancing around the room with those gold eyes. “...But perhaps you are mistaken in that, doc. Perhaps you’ll find that we can speak in a much more comfortable setting, just the two of us...and in not too long a time.”
I narrowed my gaze at him.
It didn’t sound like a threat, at least not coming from him. But the words themselves could definitely have been construed as one.
I gave him a wry smile. “You think so, huh?”
I do, a voice said clearly in my mind. I do think so, doc.
I jumped, violently.
Truthfully, I almost lost my balance in the chair.
“Miri?” Nick asked in my ear. “Miri? Are you okay?”
For a long-feeling few seconds I only stared at Black, breathing harder.
I could feel as much as see him watching me react. He smiled, lifting the bare corners of that sculpted mouth. Then he shrugged, his expression smoothing.
“Perhaps you’ll accept a raincheck on that particular discussion, doc?” he said. “...After I’ve finished my business here?”
It unnerved me, hearing him use the nickname yet again. I knew it wasn’t exactly an original thing to call someone in my line of work, but it still struck me as deliberate.
I fought the other thing out of my mind, sure I must have imagined it.
Even so, the smile on my face grew strained.
“Okay,” I said. “You pick the topic, then. For today I mean...pre-raincheck.”
Quentin Black smiled, leaning back deliberately in the bolted, metal chair.
“No,” he said, after assessing me again with those strangely animal eyes. “No, I think we’re done for now, doc. It was my very great pleasure to meet you, however.”
I pursed my lips. “You don’t want to talk to me anymore?” I said.
I want to talk to you so badly I can fucking taste it, that same voice said in my mind, making me jump again, but less violently that time. My breath stopped, locking in my chest as the voice rose even more clearly. But not here, doc. Not here. Patience. And believe me when I say I am speaking to myself in this, even more than I am to you...
I could only sit there, breathing, staring at him.
Those gold eyes never wavered.
When I didn’t move after a few more seconds, or speak, he smiled.
Do they know what you are, doc? Does that handsome cop in the next room have any idea why it is that you are so very, very good at your job? Or how you managed to keep him alive that time in Afghanistan...?
My chest clenched more.
It hurt now, like a fist had reached inside me, squeezing my heart.
The voice fell silent.
The man in front of me looked at me, his expression close to expectant. Then he gazed pointedly down at my engagement ring.
Does anyone know about you, doc? Anyone at all?
My throat closed as he raised his eyes back to mine.
Those gold flecked irises studied my face, watching my reaction.
I can’t hear you, the voice said next, flickering with a tinge of frustration. I cannot hear you at all...but I know from your face that you hear me, doc. That shield of yours is damned strong. I confess, it’s positively turning me on at this point...but it also makes me very curious. Were you ever ranked, sister? If so, I would love to know at what level...
Another smile ghosted his lips, even as a curl of heat slid through my lower abdomen, one that didn’t feel like it originated from me, at least not entirely.
It made my face flush hot, even as my thighs clenched together in reflex.
I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours... the voice said, softer.
My throat tightened, choking me with a caught swallow.
Still, he didn’t say anything aloud.
We’ll talk more later, doc, I heard in my mind, softer still. I have so many, many questions. So many things I’d like to discuss. But I really do not wish to do any of that here...not with them watching us. They are wondering at this silence as it is. You must try to speak to me again, doc, before your handsome cop decides there is a problem. Before he and his meat-headed partner make an issue of it...
I blinked again, my heart now slamming against my ribs.
But he wasn’t looking at me now.
As I watched, Quentin Rayne Black lapsed back into the bored, stone-faced man I’d glimpsed through the window before I’d entered the room.
I’d finally managed to clear my throat.
Clenching my hands together in my lap, conscious of how clammy they felt, I kept my voice carefully polite.
“Do you want to tell me about the body in the park, Mr. Black?” I said.
Nothing. Silence.
“Mr. Black?” I said, hearing the slight tremble in my voice. “Did you kill that woman? Did you pose her in that wedding dress?”
He didn’t look up from where he stared down between his cuffed hands.
I tried again, asking the same thing a few different ways.
But nothing I said in those next fifteen or so minutes appeared to reach him. I tried being friendly, annoying, disdainful, mocking. I belittled his intellect...even threw out a few offers to deal, along with some not-so-veiled threats. Nothing.
I got nothing.
In fact, I doubt I penetrated the veneer of that thoughtful, somehow puzzle-solving stare he aimed at the empty surface of the metal table.
Clearly, I’d been dismissed.
FIRST INTERVIEW
HE LOOKED ME over when I walked in.
Unlike a lot of people I’d interviewed in this room, suspects and witnesses alike, he didn’t hide his appraisal. He also didn’t do anything to try and get me on his side––like smile, or make his body language more accommodating or submissive.
He didn’t try to intimidate me either, at least not that I noticed.
Again, the predominant emotion I saw in his assessment remained impatience.
He seemed, more than anything, to assume I was here to waste his time, too.
At the same time, I got the sense there was more there––more in relation to me specifically, I mean. Nothing sexual, at least I didn’t think so.
What that “more” was exactly, I had absolutely no theories at that point.
Maybe I simply wasn’t what––or who––he’d expected.
Maybe my appearance threw him.
I’m used to that, to a degree. I’m tall for a woman, almost five-nine. My mom was Native American, like I said, and from one of the plains tribes that actually had some real height on them. I’m not sure what our dad was, since I never met any of his family, but he was tall too. I’d gotten hints of his bone structure, along with my mom’s. I also got his light-hazel eyes, which people tell me are striking on me but were positively riveting on my father. My mom joked once she could have fallen in love with my father from his eyes alone.
The rest of me was my mother, according to my aunts. Straight black hair, full mouth, my sense of humor, even my curves, which were slightly less curvy from the martial arts classes, but not fully absent either.
In other words, even under all of my professional armor, I’m definitely female.
I can’t exactly hide it, even in suits and with my hair tied tightly back.
For my part, I didn’t bother to smile at him either, or do any of the usual heavy-handed shrink things to try and convince him I was “on his side” or even particularly friendly towards him. Right off, I got the feeling that those kinds of tactics wouldn’t work on this guy.
He would see right through them.
Worse, trying it would probably cause him to dismiss me, too.
So yeah, I approached him assuming he was a psychopath.
Of course, the technical term these days, at least according to the latest Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, (or “DSM” as we shrink-types called it) is “Anti-Social Personality Disorder” or ASPD. Those of us who work in forensic psych know a lot of the specific signs that go with this diagnosis––as well as ways to pick out the truly dangerous ones––but generally, there’s a longer sussing-out period involved.
The most dangerous types were harder to spot.
Often highly intelligent, deeply manipulative, glibly charming, uninterested in other people and totally unwilling to acknowledge the individual rights of anyone apart from themselves, the more dangerous individuals with anti-social personality disorder were masters at evading detection by psychs who couldn’t see past the veneer.
Narcissistic bordering on grandiose. Inflated sense of their own entitlement. Zero compunction about manipulating others. Generally lacking the capacity for love. Generally lacking the ability to feel shame or remorse. They either experienced only shallow emotions or feigned emotion altogether. They had a constant need for stimulation...
Well, you get the idea.
Truthfully, I doubted this guy would talk to me any more than he would talk to the cops.
Well, unless he decided I could help him in some way, or perhaps entertain him...since “short attention span” was often a big issue for the average psychopath. Or perhaps he would treat me differently because he wanted a female audience instead of a male one; I was reasonably certain that only male cops had been tried on him so far.
Either way, I strongly suspected I wouldn’t win him over by trying to play him for a fool, at least not right out of the gate.
I seated myself in the metal folding chair across the table from him.
I did my own quick once-over of the room, even though I’d been in here a few dozen times already––reminding myself of the location of the cameras, looking at the four corners out of habit. My eyes glanced down to where the suspect’s ankles had been cuffed, not only to one another but to metal rings in the floor. His wrist cuffs were also chained to his waist, as well as to those same rings in the floor.
Glen already assured me that the range of the chains wouldn’t allow him to reach me as long as I stayed in the chair.
Still, he’d warned me not to get any closer.
I didn’t need to be told twice. The guy looked a lot bigger from in here.
He also looked significantly more muscular.
Leaning back in the hard, metal seat, I watched those gold, cat-like eyes flicker over me. They didn’t pause anywhere for long, much less conduct one of those lecherous, lingering appraisals some convicts did in an attempt to unsettle me.
I sensed a methodicalness to his stare, instead.
That unnerved me a little, truthfully, maybe because it surprised me.
Even for a psychopath, that kind of focus was rare. Usually other people just weren’t that interesting to them.
Then again, captivity may have changed that for him, too.
My eyes took in his appearance for the second time that day, lingering on the strangely high cheekbones still colored with smears of dried blood. I saw flakes of that blood on the surface of the table too, from where it had been rubbed off by his metal cuffs.
Wincing, I glanced up to find him staring at me once more, his gold eyes bordering on thoughtful as they took in my face.
When he didn’t break the silence after a few seconds more, I leaned back more deliberately, crossing my legs in the dark-blue pantsuit I wore.
“So,” I said, sighing. “You don’t want to talk to anyone.”
I didn’t bother to state it as a question.
The man’s eyes flickered back to my face, specifically to my eyes.
After a pause, I saw a faint smile tease the edges of his lips.
“I doubt my words would be very convincing,” he said.
I must have jumped a little in my chair, but he pretended not to notice.
“...Covered in blood,” he continued, motioning with one cuffed hand, likely as much as he could, given the restraints. Still, something in the odd grace of the gesture struck me, causing me to follow it with my eyes. “...Picked up near the scene of the crime. And you have witnesses, too, I suspect? Or did those three little girls decide it wasn’t worth getting in trouble with their parents by calling the police in the wee hours of dawn?”
His words surprised me.
More, the longer he spoke.
Not only because he said them, but because they came out with a clipped, sharp accuracy and cadence. They wore the barest trace of an accent too, although it was one I couldn’t identify. His manner of speech certainly implied a greater than average amount of education.
“In any case,” the man said, leaning back so that the chains clanked at his ankles and on the table. “...I imagine I lack credibility, wouldn’t you say, doc?”
I heard murmurings of surprise through my earpiece, too.
Apparently, I’d already gotten more out of him than any of them had.
I smoothed my expression without trying to hide my own surprise. Instead, I watched him openly, letting him see me do it.
“Doc,” I said.
At his widening smile, I returned it, adding a touch of wry humor and raising an eyebrow.
“You think I am a doctor?”
“Aren’t you?” he said at once. “Military, too, I suspect. Once upon a time. I saw you checking the corners. You’ve carried a gun...haven’t you, doc? Maybe you even carry one now.” He glanced around him ruefully. “Not in here, of course.”
I shifted in my chair, not answering him.
“Aren’t you a doctor?” he prompted.
“Depends on who you ask,” I said drily, sighing a little.
Without taking my eyes off his, I leaned to the side somewhat, resting my arm on the back of the folding chair.
“Psychiatrist then,” he said, adjusting his posture as well, a perhaps intentional replication of the old psychology trick of imitating the poses of those you want to confide in you. “Or psychologist...only a real one, with a PhD. So perhaps it was a criminal psych ward where you honed your paranoia, not the military. You could be a social worker too, I suppose...although I have my doubts. You have too much of a clinical air about you, not enough of that needy, do-gooder type of saccharin that the softer arts tend to attract.” His smile sharpened. “I would say dentist, but under the circumstances...”
Again that eloquent gesture of his fingers, this time indicating the room.
“...I am thinking that is not likely.”
“I’m a psychologist,” I told him easily. “Right in one.”
“So you are here to assess me, then?” he said. “Or are they hoping the presence of an attractive female would send me frothing and panting? Get me to show my true colors? Shall I start screaming ‘Die Bitch!’ to satisfy those watching through the glass?”
I smiled again, unintentionally that time.
“If you want,” I told him, muting the smile. “Do you want me to die?”
“Not particularly,” he said.
“Really? Why not?” I said.
“I think you’re the first person I’ve seen here with an IQ above that of a balding ape. Although that one inspector...he’s got a bit of that base, instinctive kind of intellect. Only a bit, mind you. You know who I mean. Joe Handsome.”
“It’s Nick, actually,” I said, smiling in spite of myself.
“Ah, he’s a friend of yours, then?”
“Not a special friend, if that’s what you mean.”
“I didn’t, but it’s interesting information to have. Clearly the topic has come up between you, or you wouldn’t have bothered to qualify it.”
I shook my head, unimpressed with this last, and letting him see that, too.
“Really?” I said. “You’re going there?”
“Going where?”
“Discredit the female by making some disparaging reference to her sexuality? Dismiss her as an equal by highlighting her value or lack thereof as a sexual object?”
“I profoundly apologize,” he said, giving me a startled look. The surprise I could see in those almond eyes may have been mocking me, but it looked genuine. “...My comments certainly weren’t meant to be disparaging. I have no intention of resorting to such cheap tricks, doctor, simply to feel I’ve ‘outwitted’ you. Sadly, my ego won’t permit it.” Pausing, he added, “Would it help you to know I get sex on a regular basis too? I don’t know that it would demean me in your eyes or if it would come off as bragging...in any case, I did not bring up your own sexuality as anything other than a personal curiosity.”
I tilted my head, still smiling, but letting my puzzlement show.
“Why are you talking to me at all?” I asked finally.
“Why shouldn’t I talk to you?” he said. “I’ve already told you that you’re the first person to walk in here that I thought might be worth my attempting to communicate.”
“Because I’m female?” I said.
“Because you seem to be less of a fool than the rest of them,” he corrected me at once.
“But you said Nick had a mind?”
“I said he had a mind of sorts. Not the same thing at all. Although, given the nature of his intellect, he has undoubtedly chosen the right profession for himself.”
I smiled again. “I’m sure that will be quite a relief for him.”
I heard laughter in the earpiece that time, right before Nick spoke up.
“See if he’ll tell you his name,” he said to me.
“Certainly, if you really want to know,” the suspect said, before I could voice the question aloud. “My name is Black. Quentin Black. Middle initial, R.”
I stared at him, still recovering from the fact that he’d seemingly heard Nick give me an instruction through the earpiece.
Clearly, he wanted me to know he’d heard it, too.
“You heard that?” I said to him.
“Good ear, yes?” he said. Smiling, he gave me a more cryptic, yet borderline predatory look. “Less good with you, however. Significantly less good.”
He paused, studying my face with eyes full of meaning.
I almost got the sense he was waiting for me to reply...or maybe just to react. When I didn’t, he leaned back in the chair, making another of those graceful, flowing gestures with his hand.
“I find that...fascinating, doc. Quite intriguing. Perhaps that is crossing a boundary with you again, however? To mention that?”
I paused on his words, then decided to dismiss them.
“Is that a real name?” I said. “Quentin Black. That doesn’t sound real. It sounds fake.”
“Real is all subjective, is it not?”
“So it’s not real, then?”
“Depends on what you mean.”
“Is it your legal name?”
“Again, depends on what you mean.”
“I mean, could you look it up in a database and actually get a hit somewhere?”
“How would I know that?” he said, making an innocent gesture with his hands, again within the limits of the metal cuffs.
Realizing I wasn’t going to get any more from him on that line of questioning, I changed direction. “What does the ‘R’ stand for?” I said.
“Rayne.”
“Quentin Rayne Black?” I repeated back to him, still not hiding my disbelief.
“Would you believe me if I said my parents had a sense of whimsy?” he asked me.
“No,” I said.
“Would you believe that I do, then?”
I snorted a laugh, in spite of myself. I heard it echoed through the earpiece, although I heard a few curses coming from that direction, too.
I shook my head at the suspect himself, but less in a “no” that time.
“Yes,” I conceded finally. “So it is a made-up name, then?”
The man calling himself Quentin Black only returned my smile. His eyes once again looked shrewd, less thoughtful and more openly calculating.
Even so, his weird comment about “listening” came back to me.
Truthfully, he was looking at me as if he were listening very hard.
The thought made me slightly nervous.
Especially since I’d been doing the same to him from inside the observation booth.
Seeing the intelligence there, I found myself regrouping mentally as the silence stretched, reminding myself who and what I was dealing with. The fact that he’d nearly made me forget that in our back and forth of the last few moments was unnerving on its own.
I found myself looking him over deliberately, for the second time since I’d left the glass-enclosed booth behind the one-way mirror. I fought to reconcile his physical presence with the words I’d heard come out of that well-formed mouth. The two things, his physicality and his manner of speaking, didn’t really fit at all, at least not from my previous experience in these kinds of interviews.
The all-black clothing, the dense, rock-like muscles I could see under that blood-soaked shirt, the expensive leather shoes, the expensive watch, the ethnically-ambiguous but somehow feral-looking face...nothing about him really fit, from his made-up name to his wryly humorous quipping with me.
I found myself staring at that strange, somehow animal-evoking face with its abnormally high cheekbones and almond eyes, and wondered who in the hell this guy really was.
“Where are you from, Quentin?” I asked, voicing at least part of my puzzlement.
He shook his head though, that smile back to playing with the edges of his lips.
“You don’t want to tell me that?” I said.
“No,” he said. “...Clearly, I don’t.”
“What do you do for a living?” I said, trying again. “Do you have a job of some kind, Quentin? Some area of expertise you’d like to share?”
That time, he rolled his eyes openly.
Before I could respond to his obvious disdain, he let out an audible and impatient sigh.
“You’re not going to resort to shrink games on me now, are you, doc?” he said, giving me another of those more penetrating stares. “...Not so soon in our new friendship? I haven’t intimidated you already, have I?” At my silence, his voice grew bored. “The constant repetition of my given name. The clinical yet polite peppering of questions in an attempt to quietly undermine my sense of autonomy here...”
“Fine.” I held up both of my palms in a gesture of surrender. “What do you want to talk about, Mr. Black? Do you want to tell me what you were doing at the Palace of Fine Arts earlier this morning?”
“Not here,” he said cryptically, smiling at me again.
I frowned, glancing around the gunmetal gray room.
“Somewhere else, then?” I said.
“Yes,” he said. “For all of your questions, doc. Including the ones I wouldn’t answer before.”
I gave him another puzzled smile. “I hate to tell you, Mr. Black, but you’re not likely to be anyplace that is significantly different from this room anytime soon. Not in terms of a non-institutional setting...if that’s what you’re driving at.”
“It must certainly appear that way to you, yes,” he said, raising his chained wrists for emphasis and glancing around the room with those gold eyes. “...But perhaps you are mistaken in that, doc. Perhaps you’ll find that we can speak in a much more comfortable setting, just the two of us...and in not too long a time.”
I narrowed my gaze at him.
It didn’t sound like a threat, at least not coming from him. But the words themselves could definitely have been construed as one.
I gave him a wry smile. “You think so, huh?”
I do, a voice said clearly in my mind. I do think so, doc.
I jumped, violently.
Truthfully, I almost lost my balance in the chair.
“Miri?” Nick asked in my ear. “Miri? Are you okay?”
For a long-feeling few seconds I only stared at Black, breathing harder.
I could feel as much as see him watching me react. He smiled, lifting the bare corners of that sculpted mouth. Then he shrugged, his expression smoothing.
“Perhaps you’ll accept a raincheck on that particular discussion, doc?” he said. “...After I’ve finished my business here?”
It unnerved me, hearing him use the nickname yet again. I knew it wasn’t exactly an original thing to call someone in my line of work, but it still struck me as deliberate.
I fought the other thing out of my mind, sure I must have imagined it.
Even so, the smile on my face grew strained.
“Okay,” I said. “You pick the topic, then. For today I mean...pre-raincheck.”
Quentin Black smiled, leaning back deliberately in the bolted, metal chair.
“No,” he said, after assessing me again with those strangely animal eyes. “No, I think we’re done for now, doc. It was my very great pleasure to meet you, however.”
I pursed my lips. “You don’t want to talk to me anymore?” I said.
I want to talk to you so badly I can fucking taste it, that same voice said in my mind, making me jump again, but less violently that time. My breath stopped, locking in my chest as the voice rose even more clearly. But not here, doc. Not here. Patience. And believe me when I say I am speaking to myself in this, even more than I am to you...
I could only sit there, breathing, staring at him.
Those gold eyes never wavered.
When I didn’t move after a few more seconds, or speak, he smiled.
Do they know what you are, doc? Does that handsome cop in the next room have any idea why it is that you are so very, very good at your job? Or how you managed to keep him alive that time in Afghanistan...?
My chest clenched more.
It hurt now, like a fist had reached inside me, squeezing my heart.
The voice fell silent.
The man in front of me looked at me, his expression close to expectant. Then he gazed pointedly down at my engagement ring.
Does anyone know about you, doc? Anyone at all?
My throat closed as he raised his eyes back to mine.
Those gold flecked irises studied my face, watching my reaction.
I can’t hear you, the voice said next, flickering with a tinge of frustration. I cannot hear you at all...but I know from your face that you hear me, doc. That shield of yours is damned strong. I confess, it’s positively turning me on at this point...but it also makes me very curious. Were you ever ranked, sister? If so, I would love to know at what level...
Another smile ghosted his lips, even as a curl of heat slid through my lower abdomen, one that didn’t feel like it originated from me, at least not entirely.
It made my face flush hot, even as my thighs clenched together in reflex.
I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours... the voice said, softer.
My throat tightened, choking me with a caught swallow.
Still, he didn’t say anything aloud.
We’ll talk more later, doc, I heard in my mind, softer still. I have so many, many questions. So many things I’d like to discuss. But I really do not wish to do any of that here...not with them watching us. They are wondering at this silence as it is. You must try to speak to me again, doc, before your handsome cop decides there is a problem. Before he and his meat-headed partner make an issue of it...
I blinked again, my heart now slamming against my ribs.
But he wasn’t looking at me now.
As I watched, Quentin Rayne Black lapsed back into the bored, stone-faced man I’d glimpsed through the window before I’d entered the room.
I’d finally managed to clear my throat.
Clenching my hands together in my lap, conscious of how clammy they felt, I kept my voice carefully polite.
“Do you want to tell me about the body in the park, Mr. Black?” I said.
Nothing. Silence.
“Mr. Black?” I said, hearing the slight tremble in my voice. “Did you kill that woman? Did you pose her in that wedding dress?”
He didn’t look up from where he stared down between his cuffed hands.
I tried again, asking the same thing a few different ways.
But nothing I said in those next fifteen or so minutes appeared to reach him. I tried being friendly, annoying, disdainful, mocking. I belittled his intellect...even threw out a few offers to deal, along with some not-so-veiled threats. Nothing.
I got nothing.
In fact, I doubt I penetrated the veneer of that thoughtful, somehow puzzle-solving stare he aimed at the empty surface of the metal table.
Clearly, I’d been dismissed.
Witch Hunter by Steffanie HOLMES
Europe – 1351. Centuries ago a curse was placed on Ada's family; every seven days a woman from her line must sleep with a man – any man – or the entire coven will lose their powers forever. As a fledgling witch, it is Ada's turn to continue the seven-day cycle, but with the plague wiping out more men every day, who will she find to take into her bed? BBW Ada goes to a sacred grove to perform a ritual to bring a man to her, and a man appears. But he is as dangerous as he is handsome ...Ulrich of Donau-Ries is a battle-scarred witch hunter, tired of the stranglehold the church has over his destiny. His heart hardened by violence and the woman who betrayed him, Ulrich is determined to never again fall in love. But that all changes when he finds Ada, naked and waiting for him. She is the first woman to loosen the chains around his black heart.
When Ada is accused of witchcraft, Ulrich seizes his chance to be close to her once more. In Ulrich's dungeon, they find solace in each other, and innocent Ada learns to embrace her lover's dark fantasies. But will Ulrich's heart thaw in time to save Ada from being burned alive at the stake?
Witch Hunter is a full-length novel, part 1 of a 3-part steamy romance series exploring Ada and Ulrich's forbidden love. The story contains elements of BDSM and dungeon play. If you like dark, brooding heroes, magical forces, and fearless heroines who know what they want, then this novel will have you shivering all over.
[Series: Witches of the Woods, #1. Published 26 September 2015, 325 pages]
Excerpt
I woke the next morning in a cold sweat, jolted from my bed by a nightmare. I dreamed I'd gone into the forest to perform the rite, only instead of conjuring a man, great buboes grew all over my body, and the skin on my hands grew black and flaked away. It was just a dream. You don't have the pestilence.
I clutched my chest, waiting for my pounding heart to return to normal. My wool blanket was dripping with my sweat. With shaking hands, I lit my candle and checked every inch of my body – running my hands over the flawless skin, searching for the buboes or rash that announced the arrival of death. Nothing.
It was only a dream, I told myself again. But I couldn't stop my hands from shaking. My aunts, as seasoned witches, placed much importance on the contents of dreams. Was my dream a prediction, or a warning? Is it telling me that death waits for me in the grove?
I sat down at the table as Aunt Aubrey cut thick chunks of bread, and gave me a wooden bowl containing a foul-smelling tea. "Drink that," she patted my shoulder. "And do not fear, Ada. I have mixed it perfectly. It is not dangerous."
"How long until it takes affect?" I lifted the bowl to my lips with shaking hands, stealing myself to gulp down to foul liquid.
"A few hours. Are you ready? You will need to hurry to the grove."
The grove was a long distance from the village – nearly a full day's hike, even from someone as young and fit as me. The women in my family had used it for centuries as a safe and secret place to perform rituals. The last time I had visited the grove had been for my ritual of initiation into our family coven – two summers ago. Now I had to return on my own to ask the Goddess for a man.
I nodded, threw my head back, and drowned the bowl in one gulp. My stomach twisted in protest as the foul concoction wound its way through my body, but I managed to keep it down. Aunt Aubrey handed me a walking staff and a pouch with some food, a knife, and the other implements for the ritual. She wrapped her warmest fur cloak around my shoulders, and strapped my bow and a quiver of arrows across my back.
"Where's Aunt Bernadine?" I demanded, my voice hoarse from the burning tea.
"She's by the stream, performing a ritual of her own," Aunt Aubrey hugged my shoulders. "Do not mind her – she cares for you deeply, in her own way. May the Goddess protect you, Ada." She kissed my forehead, and pushed me out the door.
The morning air was crisp, and a light pattern of crunchy snow dotted the forest floor. As I walked I kept my eyes on the ground, searching for the herbs and ingredients I would need to complete the spell. Patchouli, juniper, myrtle, white oak bark … Aunt Aubrey assured me the walk to the grove and the searching out of the herbs were an important part of the ritual – my movements now would help the magic become stronger.
If I wanted a man, I needed all the help I could get.
Minutes turned into hours, and I covered the ground quickly, unhindered by my elderly aunts and their weak bones. I found the patchouli easily – it grew wild in this part of the forest. I knew there were juniper bushes near the edge of the grove. Now all I needed was some white oak bark. I scanned the forest for the right tree, twisting my neck one way, then the other, searching for the familiar thick trunk and rugged branches. I could feel the potion churning in my belly, a strange warm sensation that spread out into my limbs.
Finally, I saw a white oak tree, down at the bottom of the gully. I descended the slope slowly, gathering my skirts in my hands so they would not drag in the mud. As I stepped around a fallen trunk, my foot slipped on a pile of wet leaves and I fell forward, sliding on my hands and knees, drenching my clothing and satchel in mud and snow. I sighed, pulling myself to my feet. "Just look at yourself," I muttered. "You're a mess. No wonder you need magic to find a man."
At least I was only a mile or so from the grove, and could soon wash away the filth under the waterfall.
I reached the base of the oak tree. Taking my knife from my pocket, I began to scrape away a section of bark. As I scraped, I heard a noise behind me. Just a bird. Or a deer. I kept cutting.
No. It wasn't a deer. It was a larger animal, its steps heavy in the crunching snow. There was a road – not often travelled – not far away. It might be a horse and rider perhaps? Or it could be a wolf, stalking the foolish girl who'd entered his territory? Either could be dangerous. I swirled around, scanning the forest for any sign of life. It wouldn't do to be caught out here by myself, clutching a satchel laden with magical implements. I squinted through the trees around the gully, but could see nothing.
A twig snapped. My heart leapt to my chest.
As silently as possible, I pulled the small bow from my back and removed an arrow from my quiver. Although most women in the village were forbidden the use of weapons, my aunts taught me to use a bow to hunt animals in the forest. I was a decent shot. There's many a winter we wouldn't have survived if it hadn't been for the rabbits and birds I brought home for the stew pot.
Again, I searched the undergrowth, listening for the familiar tread of a wolf's paw, or the faint whiff of rotten flesh that often accompanied them.
I waited for several moments, steadying my breathing, my senses poised for an attack. But there was nothing. It is nothing. My stomach twisted again, Aunt Aubrey's potion working its foul magic. My imagination was getting the better of me. I replaced the bow and arrow and moved toward the grove.
I moved silently now, as if I were approaching an animal. If there was something out there, I didn't want it to follow me. I entered the grove through a line of fir saplings, several of their branches bent or broken from last week's storm. The rain had raised the level of the pool inside, which lapped at the edges of the firs, the stones on the bank submerged under clear water. It was not yet cold enough for the water to turn to ice. I remembered the pool being fed by a peaceful, trickling waterfall, but the recent rains had turned it into a torrent, churning the water around it into white froth.
The grove was empty, and even the birds fell silent as I walked to the edge of the lagoon. Nothing would disturb my ritual today.
Humming to myself, I shrugged off the heavy cloak and arranged my implements at the edge of the water. The walk had warmed my body, causing me to sweat through my thick layers. I was looking forward to cooling down in the water. Using the knife on my belt, I traced a faint circle in the dirt, and sat inside, placing the mortar and pestle, the scrap of parchment containing the spell, the leather thong, and my herbs and bark in a semi-circle in front of me. I dumped the herbs into the bowl and worked them into a paste, speaking an incantation aloud, my tongue slipping easily over the ancient words.
My voice carried great power in the silence of the grove – I could feel the magic tingling in the air. The Goddess is listening.
I set down the pestle, satisfied I had created a fine paste. I stood and lifted my sheath over my head. Naked now, I dipped my fingers into the paste and drew the sigils across my body, my skin tingling under my touch as I traced the lines across my bare breasts and belly.
The magic is working. The Goddess will bring me a man, so that my aunts and I can continue to use our magic.
I twirled around three times, laughing at my giddiness. Now it was time to wash. Speaking a final prayer, I stepped across the circle, moving slowly into the pool. I shivered as the water lapped against my toes, inched up my calves, and splashed against the downy triangle between my legs. When I was waist-deep I dived, enjoying the shock as my body penetrated the coolness. Laughing, I emerged again, lying back and floating on the skin of the water, the sigils smudged across my pale skin.
Divine Goddess, I prayed, closing my eyes and imagining my prayer being carried away on the breeze. Bring me a man to cool my fires as this water cools me, and to restore to my family the powers you have bestowed upon us.
I lifted my head out of the water, and felt a scream catch in my throat. On the edge of the lagoon stood a man, clothed in only a tunic and black trousers. A heavy sword hung from a scabbard around his waist. He was watching me.
The Goddess works fast.
I shut my eyes and opened them again. He was still there. A man – a real man – stood before me in the sacred grove.
My spell brought him here. I can perform magic after all!
And what magic it was. I licked my lips as I regarded my gift from the Goddess. He was more handsome then I ever could have wished. Tall, with long hair as black as night, held back from his face with plaits and leather thongs. Beneath his thin tunic, his shoulders bulged – a man didn't get muscles like that working in the village. He was a warrior. The skin on his arms was rough, criss-crossed with the white scars of battle. He had shaved recently, and a thin line of stubble darkened his square, proud jaw. A smattering of black hair ran across his chest, leading in a dark line from his belly button down, down below his leather sword belt. He wore dark trousers and thick leather boots, and leather braces encircled his forearms.
Our eyes met, and he did not look away. His sharp features betrayed nothing, just high cheekbones framing a smouldering gaze. This was the man the Goddess has chosen for me? I could hardly believe my good fortune.
"Why have you come here?" I managed to choke out.
He did not answer.
Mesmerised, I rolled on to my stomach and drifted across the water toward him. A water-skin, half filled, bobbed in the pool in front of him. The sun caught the glint of metal on the rocks beside him – he had laid aside a dagger. His sheathed sword swung menacingly at his side. He was a warrior. I would have a warrior. Wait until Rebekah hears about this-
"Have you come for me?"
Again, the man said nothing. I stopped a few feet from him, unsettled by his silence and that stony, unfaltering gaze. I drew up in the shallow water, my full height only reaching his broad shoulders, revealing the full length of my nakedness. That disarmed him at last, and he glanced away, stepping back across the rocks.
"Have you come for me?" I asked again, suddenly feeling very exposed and nervous.
The man took another step back, glancing at me and looking away again. "You must … clothe yourself, woman."
"Why?" I felt confused. Being naked was an important part of the ritual. "Do I not please you?"
"You …" he turned toward me again, and this time his gaze fell on the two sigils above my breasts. They hadn't completely washed away in the water. He seemed to trace the design in the air with his pupils. "You are … I know what you are. You are a vision come to tempt me from the path of righteousness."
"I am no vision. I am yours." What is happening? Why does he not want me? I tried to fight the tears that clutched at the corners of my eyes. Why can I not even convince this man, whom the Goddess has given me, to lay with me?
The man nodded, still not meeting my gaze. When he spoke again, his voice was tinged with sadness. "Yes, you are mine. But I am a servant of Death. Knowing me could be your doom."
I took a step back, more unsure than ever. At the mention of death, I remembered my dream from the night before. Was it predicting this man? Is this how it is supposed to go? Goddess, help me understand what to do next.
"I don't understand." My heel caught the edge of a rock, and I staggered forward to regain my balance. Warm, rough hands grabbed me by the shoulders, pulling me upright. I stood, panting, gazing up at him. His eyes bore into mine, deep pools of brown with a flicker of orange flame around the iris. The eyes of a fire god.
The warrior broke his gaze and scanned the horizon, his eyes darting from tree to tree before focusing intently on the rock ledge above the waterfall.
"It is safe here," I said. "The nearest village is a day’s hike from the grove. This is why I have come–"
He held his finger to his lips. "You're not safe here," he whispered. "Not while you're with me."
I did not know what to say, or if I should say anything at all. He could break me in two with his bare hands. His gaze was so hard, so cruel. Were the men the Goddess sent always this fearsome? Is it some kind of test? His grip against my shoulder tightened, his fingers digging into my skin. I whimpered.
"You are beautiful," he whispered. He said it with venom, as though it were an accusation. He released my shoulder and raised his hand toward me. I sucked in a breath, half expecting him to slap me, but instead he stroked the edge of my breast, just above my nipple.
My reaction to that simple touch surprised me. Far from frightening me, when he touched my skin it sent a shiver through me, as if every hair on my body stood on end. My stomach contracted at his touch, and my nipple swelled before him. He stroked it again, and my stomach clenched further, my skin like fire beneath his finger. I let out a low moan.
The warrior leaned forward, so close that I could feel the warmth of his body across my cool skin, even though we did not touch. His smell invaded my nostrils – a hearty scent of horse and smoke and sweat and something much darker and forbidden.
He leaner closer, closer … and brushed his lips lightly against mine. The touch sent a jolt through my whole body, and I felt light, as though I might float away. He brushed my lips once more, and before I could cry out, he pressed himself against me, the warmth of his chest burning against mine, and devoured my mouth in his.
I clutched my chest, waiting for my pounding heart to return to normal. My wool blanket was dripping with my sweat. With shaking hands, I lit my candle and checked every inch of my body – running my hands over the flawless skin, searching for the buboes or rash that announced the arrival of death. Nothing.
It was only a dream, I told myself again. But I couldn't stop my hands from shaking. My aunts, as seasoned witches, placed much importance on the contents of dreams. Was my dream a prediction, or a warning? Is it telling me that death waits for me in the grove?
I sat down at the table as Aunt Aubrey cut thick chunks of bread, and gave me a wooden bowl containing a foul-smelling tea. "Drink that," she patted my shoulder. "And do not fear, Ada. I have mixed it perfectly. It is not dangerous."
"How long until it takes affect?" I lifted the bowl to my lips with shaking hands, stealing myself to gulp down to foul liquid.
"A few hours. Are you ready? You will need to hurry to the grove."
The grove was a long distance from the village – nearly a full day's hike, even from someone as young and fit as me. The women in my family had used it for centuries as a safe and secret place to perform rituals. The last time I had visited the grove had been for my ritual of initiation into our family coven – two summers ago. Now I had to return on my own to ask the Goddess for a man.
I nodded, threw my head back, and drowned the bowl in one gulp. My stomach twisted in protest as the foul concoction wound its way through my body, but I managed to keep it down. Aunt Aubrey handed me a walking staff and a pouch with some food, a knife, and the other implements for the ritual. She wrapped her warmest fur cloak around my shoulders, and strapped my bow and a quiver of arrows across my back.
"Where's Aunt Bernadine?" I demanded, my voice hoarse from the burning tea.
"She's by the stream, performing a ritual of her own," Aunt Aubrey hugged my shoulders. "Do not mind her – she cares for you deeply, in her own way. May the Goddess protect you, Ada." She kissed my forehead, and pushed me out the door.
The morning air was crisp, and a light pattern of crunchy snow dotted the forest floor. As I walked I kept my eyes on the ground, searching for the herbs and ingredients I would need to complete the spell. Patchouli, juniper, myrtle, white oak bark … Aunt Aubrey assured me the walk to the grove and the searching out of the herbs were an important part of the ritual – my movements now would help the magic become stronger.
If I wanted a man, I needed all the help I could get.
Minutes turned into hours, and I covered the ground quickly, unhindered by my elderly aunts and their weak bones. I found the patchouli easily – it grew wild in this part of the forest. I knew there were juniper bushes near the edge of the grove. Now all I needed was some white oak bark. I scanned the forest for the right tree, twisting my neck one way, then the other, searching for the familiar thick trunk and rugged branches. I could feel the potion churning in my belly, a strange warm sensation that spread out into my limbs.
Finally, I saw a white oak tree, down at the bottom of the gully. I descended the slope slowly, gathering my skirts in my hands so they would not drag in the mud. As I stepped around a fallen trunk, my foot slipped on a pile of wet leaves and I fell forward, sliding on my hands and knees, drenching my clothing and satchel in mud and snow. I sighed, pulling myself to my feet. "Just look at yourself," I muttered. "You're a mess. No wonder you need magic to find a man."
At least I was only a mile or so from the grove, and could soon wash away the filth under the waterfall.
I reached the base of the oak tree. Taking my knife from my pocket, I began to scrape away a section of bark. As I scraped, I heard a noise behind me. Just a bird. Or a deer. I kept cutting.
No. It wasn't a deer. It was a larger animal, its steps heavy in the crunching snow. There was a road – not often travelled – not far away. It might be a horse and rider perhaps? Or it could be a wolf, stalking the foolish girl who'd entered his territory? Either could be dangerous. I swirled around, scanning the forest for any sign of life. It wouldn't do to be caught out here by myself, clutching a satchel laden with magical implements. I squinted through the trees around the gully, but could see nothing.
A twig snapped. My heart leapt to my chest.
As silently as possible, I pulled the small bow from my back and removed an arrow from my quiver. Although most women in the village were forbidden the use of weapons, my aunts taught me to use a bow to hunt animals in the forest. I was a decent shot. There's many a winter we wouldn't have survived if it hadn't been for the rabbits and birds I brought home for the stew pot.
Again, I searched the undergrowth, listening for the familiar tread of a wolf's paw, or the faint whiff of rotten flesh that often accompanied them.
I waited for several moments, steadying my breathing, my senses poised for an attack. But there was nothing. It is nothing. My stomach twisted again, Aunt Aubrey's potion working its foul magic. My imagination was getting the better of me. I replaced the bow and arrow and moved toward the grove.
I moved silently now, as if I were approaching an animal. If there was something out there, I didn't want it to follow me. I entered the grove through a line of fir saplings, several of their branches bent or broken from last week's storm. The rain had raised the level of the pool inside, which lapped at the edges of the firs, the stones on the bank submerged under clear water. It was not yet cold enough for the water to turn to ice. I remembered the pool being fed by a peaceful, trickling waterfall, but the recent rains had turned it into a torrent, churning the water around it into white froth.
The grove was empty, and even the birds fell silent as I walked to the edge of the lagoon. Nothing would disturb my ritual today.
Humming to myself, I shrugged off the heavy cloak and arranged my implements at the edge of the water. The walk had warmed my body, causing me to sweat through my thick layers. I was looking forward to cooling down in the water. Using the knife on my belt, I traced a faint circle in the dirt, and sat inside, placing the mortar and pestle, the scrap of parchment containing the spell, the leather thong, and my herbs and bark in a semi-circle in front of me. I dumped the herbs into the bowl and worked them into a paste, speaking an incantation aloud, my tongue slipping easily over the ancient words.
My voice carried great power in the silence of the grove – I could feel the magic tingling in the air. The Goddess is listening.
I set down the pestle, satisfied I had created a fine paste. I stood and lifted my sheath over my head. Naked now, I dipped my fingers into the paste and drew the sigils across my body, my skin tingling under my touch as I traced the lines across my bare breasts and belly.
The magic is working. The Goddess will bring me a man, so that my aunts and I can continue to use our magic.
I twirled around three times, laughing at my giddiness. Now it was time to wash. Speaking a final prayer, I stepped across the circle, moving slowly into the pool. I shivered as the water lapped against my toes, inched up my calves, and splashed against the downy triangle between my legs. When I was waist-deep I dived, enjoying the shock as my body penetrated the coolness. Laughing, I emerged again, lying back and floating on the skin of the water, the sigils smudged across my pale skin.
Divine Goddess, I prayed, closing my eyes and imagining my prayer being carried away on the breeze. Bring me a man to cool my fires as this water cools me, and to restore to my family the powers you have bestowed upon us.
I lifted my head out of the water, and felt a scream catch in my throat. On the edge of the lagoon stood a man, clothed in only a tunic and black trousers. A heavy sword hung from a scabbard around his waist. He was watching me.
The Goddess works fast.
I shut my eyes and opened them again. He was still there. A man – a real man – stood before me in the sacred grove.
My spell brought him here. I can perform magic after all!
And what magic it was. I licked my lips as I regarded my gift from the Goddess. He was more handsome then I ever could have wished. Tall, with long hair as black as night, held back from his face with plaits and leather thongs. Beneath his thin tunic, his shoulders bulged – a man didn't get muscles like that working in the village. He was a warrior. The skin on his arms was rough, criss-crossed with the white scars of battle. He had shaved recently, and a thin line of stubble darkened his square, proud jaw. A smattering of black hair ran across his chest, leading in a dark line from his belly button down, down below his leather sword belt. He wore dark trousers and thick leather boots, and leather braces encircled his forearms.
Our eyes met, and he did not look away. His sharp features betrayed nothing, just high cheekbones framing a smouldering gaze. This was the man the Goddess has chosen for me? I could hardly believe my good fortune.
"Why have you come here?" I managed to choke out.
He did not answer.
Mesmerised, I rolled on to my stomach and drifted across the water toward him. A water-skin, half filled, bobbed in the pool in front of him. The sun caught the glint of metal on the rocks beside him – he had laid aside a dagger. His sheathed sword swung menacingly at his side. He was a warrior. I would have a warrior. Wait until Rebekah hears about this-
"Have you come for me?"
Again, the man said nothing. I stopped a few feet from him, unsettled by his silence and that stony, unfaltering gaze. I drew up in the shallow water, my full height only reaching his broad shoulders, revealing the full length of my nakedness. That disarmed him at last, and he glanced away, stepping back across the rocks.
"Have you come for me?" I asked again, suddenly feeling very exposed and nervous.
The man took another step back, glancing at me and looking away again. "You must … clothe yourself, woman."
"Why?" I felt confused. Being naked was an important part of the ritual. "Do I not please you?"
"You …" he turned toward me again, and this time his gaze fell on the two sigils above my breasts. They hadn't completely washed away in the water. He seemed to trace the design in the air with his pupils. "You are … I know what you are. You are a vision come to tempt me from the path of righteousness."
"I am no vision. I am yours." What is happening? Why does he not want me? I tried to fight the tears that clutched at the corners of my eyes. Why can I not even convince this man, whom the Goddess has given me, to lay with me?
The man nodded, still not meeting my gaze. When he spoke again, his voice was tinged with sadness. "Yes, you are mine. But I am a servant of Death. Knowing me could be your doom."
I took a step back, more unsure than ever. At the mention of death, I remembered my dream from the night before. Was it predicting this man? Is this how it is supposed to go? Goddess, help me understand what to do next.
"I don't understand." My heel caught the edge of a rock, and I staggered forward to regain my balance. Warm, rough hands grabbed me by the shoulders, pulling me upright. I stood, panting, gazing up at him. His eyes bore into mine, deep pools of brown with a flicker of orange flame around the iris. The eyes of a fire god.
The warrior broke his gaze and scanned the horizon, his eyes darting from tree to tree before focusing intently on the rock ledge above the waterfall.
"It is safe here," I said. "The nearest village is a day’s hike from the grove. This is why I have come–"
He held his finger to his lips. "You're not safe here," he whispered. "Not while you're with me."
I did not know what to say, or if I should say anything at all. He could break me in two with his bare hands. His gaze was so hard, so cruel. Were the men the Goddess sent always this fearsome? Is it some kind of test? His grip against my shoulder tightened, his fingers digging into my skin. I whimpered.
"You are beautiful," he whispered. He said it with venom, as though it were an accusation. He released my shoulder and raised his hand toward me. I sucked in a breath, half expecting him to slap me, but instead he stroked the edge of my breast, just above my nipple.
My reaction to that simple touch surprised me. Far from frightening me, when he touched my skin it sent a shiver through me, as if every hair on my body stood on end. My stomach contracted at his touch, and my nipple swelled before him. He stroked it again, and my stomach clenched further, my skin like fire beneath his finger. I let out a low moan.
The warrior leaned forward, so close that I could feel the warmth of his body across my cool skin, even though we did not touch. His smell invaded my nostrils – a hearty scent of horse and smoke and sweat and something much darker and forbidden.
He leaner closer, closer … and brushed his lips lightly against mine. The touch sent a jolt through my whole body, and I felt light, as though I might float away. He brushed my lips once more, and before I could cry out, he pressed himself against me, the warmth of his chest burning against mine, and devoured my mouth in his.
Taken by the Beast by Conner KRESSLEY & Rebecca HAMILTON
A Sexy Beauty and the Beast Spin OffWhen Charisse Bellamy takes the job at New Haven’s first ever Night Club, it’s only intended as a short term solution to make ends meet. But she soon discovers there is no resisting the pull of her new boss, Abram. Despite worrying how her feelings for Abram will impact her budding relationship with police deputy Dalton, she can’t seem to stay away, and it’s not until a missing girl is found chained up in Abram’s home that this beauty realizes one of her romantic interests is a beast.
Hunt or Be Hunted
Beasts have infiltrated the towns. The cities. The government.
Blood will be spilled. Wars will be fought. Magic will be bartered.
And there's only one person who can bridge the worlds between Conduits and Supplicants.
If she fails, human lives will be reduced to nothing more than a source.
[Series: Conduit, #1. Published 12 June 2015, 255 pages]
Forbidden by Elle THORNE
A SPIN OFF SERIES OF SHIFTERS FOREVER!This one takes place in Europe, the original home of the Tiero shifters. Rafael "Rafe" Tiero has it bad for Callie, his half-brother's woman. He thinks that's the kind of woman he needs, sweet and mild-tempered. How did that potty-mouthed barista called Jax, with her funky ways, nails, and attitude get under his skin?
Jaclyn "Jax" Vasquez has a problem. Her parents are in town for a surprise visit. If they see her boyfriend, Scotty, the proverbial $h1t will hit the fan! She needs help and chooses the first--and only--option, the indigo-eyed stranger in the corner. What could possibly make this worse? He's a white tiger shifter, and she's got a secret. Sparks and fur fly!
BBW Paranormal Shape Shifter Romance
If hot sex skeeves you out, you may want to pass on this book. If freaky, downright dirty sexy talk bothers you, yeah, for sure you gotta pass on this one. We believe in sex--hot, dirty, delicious sex. Yup, make it sweaty, too. It's not just sex, it's about the romance. But good romance has sex, and we keep the doors open! Oh, and the lights on! ;)
[Series: Never After Dark, #1. Published 5 July 2015, 105 pages]
Ardent by Alexia PURDY
Vengeance is the only thing worth dying for in the supernatural city of Temple.Teaming up with a handsome rival named Ephrem, the banished Princess Lilliana must find her stolen Ardent talisman before a sinister enemy uses it against both rival wolf pack strongholds, intertwining the destinies of the two would-be lovers.
[Series: The ArcKnight Chronicles, #1. Published 22 October 2015, 108 pages]
Excerpt
“My Lady, I cannot leave you here alone. It’s not safe.”
I whipped my eyes open and glared at him. “I told you I was banished. You can stop with the formalities and get. I don’t have time to waste on a pathetic royal guard. Especially a MarkTier. I'm okay on my own.”
“If you come with me, I know a safe place where you can get out of the rain and get warm.”
I laughed. It came out more hysterical than I intended, but I was not in a mood to keep it together any longer. The fact that he offered me any shelter at all, most likely his home, was gracious, yet the knowledge that it was most likely on ArcKnight territory made the offer even more bittersweet. I was banished not only from the royal ArcKnight palace but from lingering on any of the pack’s territories, which included a substantial chunk of the city.
I was truly alone now.
“You’d be punished for harboring a non-citizen… a traitor like me. I can’t. You know I can’t.”
He held out his hand. It glistened with water, for he was soaked to the bone, just like me. The cold rain didn’t affect him at all. I was the one shivering and on the verge of hypothermia, and yet he waited patiently.
“It’s beyond the ArcKnight border. I promise.” His eyes gleamed in the momentary moonlight sneaking past the storm clouds above. They were breathtaking and unusual. I’d never seen another shifter with eyes like his.
It may be beyond the ArcKnight stronghold, but they weren’t the only pack ruling the city.
“But the MarkTiers….”
“They have no jurisdiction there either.”
Staring at him in disbelief, I let my eyes linger on his for an eternal moment. His offer brought more questions to my mind than anything else. Even so, there was something there that held me in a trance and beckoned me to follow. Taken in by that hypnotizing cobalt sea, I reached out, accepted his hand and let him lead me through the murky city paths I’d never trodden, deeper into the unknown.
This place was now my new home, and it was nothing but strange and frightening.
But what choice did I have?
~Lily & Ephrem - The ArcKnight Chronicles
I whipped my eyes open and glared at him. “I told you I was banished. You can stop with the formalities and get. I don’t have time to waste on a pathetic royal guard. Especially a MarkTier. I'm okay on my own.”
“If you come with me, I know a safe place where you can get out of the rain and get warm.”
I laughed. It came out more hysterical than I intended, but I was not in a mood to keep it together any longer. The fact that he offered me any shelter at all, most likely his home, was gracious, yet the knowledge that it was most likely on ArcKnight territory made the offer even more bittersweet. I was banished not only from the royal ArcKnight palace but from lingering on any of the pack’s territories, which included a substantial chunk of the city.
I was truly alone now.
“You’d be punished for harboring a non-citizen… a traitor like me. I can’t. You know I can’t.”
He held out his hand. It glistened with water, for he was soaked to the bone, just like me. The cold rain didn’t affect him at all. I was the one shivering and on the verge of hypothermia, and yet he waited patiently.
“It’s beyond the ArcKnight border. I promise.” His eyes gleamed in the momentary moonlight sneaking past the storm clouds above. They were breathtaking and unusual. I’d never seen another shifter with eyes like his.
It may be beyond the ArcKnight stronghold, but they weren’t the only pack ruling the city.
“But the MarkTiers….”
“They have no jurisdiction there either.”
Staring at him in disbelief, I let my eyes linger on his for an eternal moment. His offer brought more questions to my mind than anything else. Even so, there was something there that held me in a trance and beckoned me to follow. Taken in by that hypnotizing cobalt sea, I reached out, accepted his hand and let him lead me through the murky city paths I’d never trodden, deeper into the unknown.
This place was now my new home, and it was nothing but strange and frightening.
But what choice did I have?
~Lily & Ephrem - The ArcKnight Chronicles
Wolf's Desire by Ambrielle KIRK
After Keira's husband is brutally murdered, she is more than just alone but vulnerable to threats and tangled in a web of greed. Her decisions lead her into a corner, and safety is jeopardized. Aiden, Wolf shifter and Council member of the Caedmon Pack, has never failed when it comes to fulfilling the terms of his employment contract. When he is hired to protect an heiress, he doesn't plan on her being the only woman to bring both challenge and purpose in his life. Without hesitation, he vows to keep the grieving Keira safe--even from himself. Keira trusts Aiden unconditionally and finds joy whenever they are together, but can love transcend a tragedy? Aiden's urge to protect her is just as great as his desire to claim her. Once the passion is unleashed and fueled by the need to have all of her, the wolf will accept nothing less than his mate.[Series: Caedmon Wolves, #4. 2nd Edition Published 26 March 2013, 181 pages]
Excerpt
A deep penetrating sensation hit Aiden, capturing his next breath and forcing him to stumble back. Intense hunger and wanting overtook him, and he almost dropped his bag. He shivered and waves of conflicting feelings ran throughout him. He parted his mouth in shock. His taste buds swelled, and his manhood stirred behind the zipper of his pants.
He’d never had this type of reaction to any client. Yet, Keira was not just any client. There was a reason he was good at his profession. His sense of smell and the ability to detect fear and danger within milliseconds were his greatest assets. This same sense of smell told him the woman inside was his mate.
Fuck.
There was no other explanation. Or perhaps he’d completely lost it. Had he made a mistake by taking this job? He should have turned this assignment down and remained retired. He was no use to a client if his nose was playing tricks on him. But had his nose ever deceived him?
This woman—Keira Ellis—was his mate.
His wolf rejoiced, but this feral need to take, ravish, and claim her confused his human side.
“Mr. Price?” Thomas opened the door a little wider.
Aiden swallowed as more of the woman’s scent slammed into him. He stepped over the threshold, ready to meet the woman who inflamed his heart with desire.
Thomas nodded once and then began to back away. “There are preparations to be made for dinner. Francine will be around this evening to assist you with anything else you may need during your stay.” With that, he left Aiden in the doorway.
Aiden scanned the room for Ms. Ellis, but she wasn’t anywhere to be seen and he didn’t hear a sound. But Ms. Ellis was in there, all right. He could smell the subtle fragrance of her perfume.
This was some sort of an office or maybe just a library. Rows of bookcases lined the walls. A massive red oak desk sat in the center of the room. The big black chair behind it was empty. There was a leather-bound book open in the center of the desk and a fountain pen lying beside it.
Aiden picked up his bags, not wanting to leave his weapons in the hallway. Just as he took a step past the door, a gust of fresh wind rolled in his direction and a strong, relaxing aura overtook him. Aiden turned toward the breeze. A woman sat with a book in her hand in front of an open bay window. A powerful energy rushed down his spine, and his mouth became dry.
Ms. Ellis didn’t pay him any attention. She was busy reading the book on her lap. She sat on a plump cushion with her legs crossed; the curtains billowed around her. Her hair was wound in a bun at her nape. When she bowed her head, Aiden admired the long gracefulness of her neck. She looked extremely young—which wasn’t something Aiden expected.
The dress she wore clung to her ripe breasts. Her arms, the color of warm melted caramel, were completely exposed. The sole of one foot was bared to him. It was small, delicate, and looked baby soft.
Another hot flash of feral need spread through Aiden’s core. His nostrils flared as he identified the mesmerizing scent. Besides another set of lavender in the vase poised on the desk was the smell of something sweeter. Like a fruit. Peaches.
At that moment she chose to look up.
Gods, she was beautiful. Young and beautiful. Delicate and exotic.
Her eyelashes fluttered as she focused on him. Deep hazel eyes examined him from head to toe with precision. Her plush lips parted as she observed him, and her eyebrows lifted momentarily, hinting at a bit of surprise.
Why had he expected an older woman? Maybe because Jamison Ellis was in his late fifties? Perhaps she was his daughter and not his wife, but nothing in the files indicated the Ellises had any children.
When she closed the book and placed it on the sill beside her, he noticed her fingernails were painted a deep red.
He attempted to regain his composure and met her at the bay window.
He dropped his duffle bags, and the heavy weight hit the floor with a thud. “Aiden Price reporting for duty, ma’am.”
A shy smile crossed her face. “Call me Keira.”
He wanted Keira. He wanted her to himself.
At his side. In his arms. On his bed.
Without a doubt, the wolf knew the connection between the pair. She was the one the animal craved to possess. She would make both of them happy. Satisfied, not just temporarily, but indefinitely. Now that the wolf inside him had identified his mate, he would hunger for her, never really fulfilled unless she accepted his bite and the bond that would make them whole.
“Hello, Keira.” Everything about her was beautiful. Even her name was mesmerizing. His soul warmed, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Whatever he’d learned during his training over fifteen years ago about containing strong emotions toward a client was now only a distant memory. “I hope I wasn’t interrupting, but I was told to report at 1500 hours sharp.”
“I was only reading.” She picked up the paperback book she had set down and waved it in front of him before putting it back.
Aiden noted on the cover a knight in full armor embracing a scantily dressed woman. She was into romance novels and happily ever afters. Interesting. “Forgive me, but this assignment was impromptu. I’d like to perform a physical inspection of the property and surrounding areas.”
Keira squinted up at him in confusion. Her gaze traveled once again from his head to his toe, and then lingered on the bags near his feet before trailing back up. She pursed her lips before saying, “That leather bag looks heavy. What do you have in it?”
“Weapons.”
Her lips parted slightly in shock. “Do you think you’ll need them?”
“The report says you’re a moderately high-risk client. They’re for your protection.”
She frowned and wrinkled her brow.
Aiden moved closer. He longed to touch her; he wanted to console her. “Don’t worry. I’m highly skilled and effective at what I do. I’m the man who will keep you safe.”
The delicate veins shifted on her neck as she swallowed.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
She didn’t seem to show the same instant bond he did, but then again she was human. His mate was human? Was it a mistake? Maybe the smell of her perfume clouded his wolf’s judgment.
He was here to protect Keira Ellis, not take her to bed. He had rules. One of them was: never fuck a client.
This feeling would fade…perhaps. And if it didn’t, he’d worry about that later.
There was something else he registered in her scent.
Keira Ellis was afraid. Along with the aura of ripe peaches, the air was also tinged with an abundance of fear and apprehension. Aiden felt sorry for her. He’d lost many he loved over the years, but nothing could have been as terrible as losing a spouse to a killer.
“According to Thomas, there is a room where I’ll be staying. I’d like to drop off my bags and tour of the property, if you don’t mind.” Aiden looked over her shoulders at yet another pot of lavender sitting against the bay window. “After that, I won’t inconvenience you anymore.”
She nodded and dropped her gaze to the floor. “I’ll have Thomas show you. He knows this property very well.” She picked up her book again.
He’d been dismissed for a romance novel hero. Very interesting.
Aiden grimaced. “You misunderstand. You hired me as your bodyguard. Twenty-four seven. Except during times calling for privacy. The terms of the contract require me to be in your presence or not less than a room away, depending on the situation and the security at the present time. Were you not made aware of these arrangements or did you not request them?”
“It’s just I’ve never had a bodyguard.” Her voice sounded strained and troubled, and tears pooled in her eyes. “Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. If someone killed me tomorrow, no one would care.”
“I would care,” Aiden said without hesitation. “And I won’t let that happen.”
He’d never had this type of reaction to any client. Yet, Keira was not just any client. There was a reason he was good at his profession. His sense of smell and the ability to detect fear and danger within milliseconds were his greatest assets. This same sense of smell told him the woman inside was his mate.
Fuck.
There was no other explanation. Or perhaps he’d completely lost it. Had he made a mistake by taking this job? He should have turned this assignment down and remained retired. He was no use to a client if his nose was playing tricks on him. But had his nose ever deceived him?
This woman—Keira Ellis—was his mate.
His wolf rejoiced, but this feral need to take, ravish, and claim her confused his human side.
“Mr. Price?” Thomas opened the door a little wider.
Aiden swallowed as more of the woman’s scent slammed into him. He stepped over the threshold, ready to meet the woman who inflamed his heart with desire.
Thomas nodded once and then began to back away. “There are preparations to be made for dinner. Francine will be around this evening to assist you with anything else you may need during your stay.” With that, he left Aiden in the doorway.
Aiden scanned the room for Ms. Ellis, but she wasn’t anywhere to be seen and he didn’t hear a sound. But Ms. Ellis was in there, all right. He could smell the subtle fragrance of her perfume.
This was some sort of an office or maybe just a library. Rows of bookcases lined the walls. A massive red oak desk sat in the center of the room. The big black chair behind it was empty. There was a leather-bound book open in the center of the desk and a fountain pen lying beside it.
Aiden picked up his bags, not wanting to leave his weapons in the hallway. Just as he took a step past the door, a gust of fresh wind rolled in his direction and a strong, relaxing aura overtook him. Aiden turned toward the breeze. A woman sat with a book in her hand in front of an open bay window. A powerful energy rushed down his spine, and his mouth became dry.
Ms. Ellis didn’t pay him any attention. She was busy reading the book on her lap. She sat on a plump cushion with her legs crossed; the curtains billowed around her. Her hair was wound in a bun at her nape. When she bowed her head, Aiden admired the long gracefulness of her neck. She looked extremely young—which wasn’t something Aiden expected.
The dress she wore clung to her ripe breasts. Her arms, the color of warm melted caramel, were completely exposed. The sole of one foot was bared to him. It was small, delicate, and looked baby soft.
Another hot flash of feral need spread through Aiden’s core. His nostrils flared as he identified the mesmerizing scent. Besides another set of lavender in the vase poised on the desk was the smell of something sweeter. Like a fruit. Peaches.
At that moment she chose to look up.
Gods, she was beautiful. Young and beautiful. Delicate and exotic.
Her eyelashes fluttered as she focused on him. Deep hazel eyes examined him from head to toe with precision. Her plush lips parted as she observed him, and her eyebrows lifted momentarily, hinting at a bit of surprise.
Why had he expected an older woman? Maybe because Jamison Ellis was in his late fifties? Perhaps she was his daughter and not his wife, but nothing in the files indicated the Ellises had any children.
When she closed the book and placed it on the sill beside her, he noticed her fingernails were painted a deep red.
He attempted to regain his composure and met her at the bay window.
He dropped his duffle bags, and the heavy weight hit the floor with a thud. “Aiden Price reporting for duty, ma’am.”
A shy smile crossed her face. “Call me Keira.”
He wanted Keira. He wanted her to himself.
At his side. In his arms. On his bed.
Without a doubt, the wolf knew the connection between the pair. She was the one the animal craved to possess. She would make both of them happy. Satisfied, not just temporarily, but indefinitely. Now that the wolf inside him had identified his mate, he would hunger for her, never really fulfilled unless she accepted his bite and the bond that would make them whole.
“Hello, Keira.” Everything about her was beautiful. Even her name was mesmerizing. His soul warmed, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Whatever he’d learned during his training over fifteen years ago about containing strong emotions toward a client was now only a distant memory. “I hope I wasn’t interrupting, but I was told to report at 1500 hours sharp.”
“I was only reading.” She picked up the paperback book she had set down and waved it in front of him before putting it back.
Aiden noted on the cover a knight in full armor embracing a scantily dressed woman. She was into romance novels and happily ever afters. Interesting. “Forgive me, but this assignment was impromptu. I’d like to perform a physical inspection of the property and surrounding areas.”
Keira squinted up at him in confusion. Her gaze traveled once again from his head to his toe, and then lingered on the bags near his feet before trailing back up. She pursed her lips before saying, “That leather bag looks heavy. What do you have in it?”
“Weapons.”
Her lips parted slightly in shock. “Do you think you’ll need them?”
“The report says you’re a moderately high-risk client. They’re for your protection.”
She frowned and wrinkled her brow.
Aiden moved closer. He longed to touch her; he wanted to console her. “Don’t worry. I’m highly skilled and effective at what I do. I’m the man who will keep you safe.”
The delicate veins shifted on her neck as she swallowed.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
She didn’t seem to show the same instant bond he did, but then again she was human. His mate was human? Was it a mistake? Maybe the smell of her perfume clouded his wolf’s judgment.
He was here to protect Keira Ellis, not take her to bed. He had rules. One of them was: never fuck a client.
This feeling would fade…perhaps. And if it didn’t, he’d worry about that later.
There was something else he registered in her scent.
Keira Ellis was afraid. Along with the aura of ripe peaches, the air was also tinged with an abundance of fear and apprehension. Aiden felt sorry for her. He’d lost many he loved over the years, but nothing could have been as terrible as losing a spouse to a killer.
“According to Thomas, there is a room where I’ll be staying. I’d like to drop off my bags and tour of the property, if you don’t mind.” Aiden looked over her shoulders at yet another pot of lavender sitting against the bay window. “After that, I won’t inconvenience you anymore.”
She nodded and dropped her gaze to the floor. “I’ll have Thomas show you. He knows this property very well.” She picked up her book again.
He’d been dismissed for a romance novel hero. Very interesting.
Aiden grimaced. “You misunderstand. You hired me as your bodyguard. Twenty-four seven. Except during times calling for privacy. The terms of the contract require me to be in your presence or not less than a room away, depending on the situation and the security at the present time. Were you not made aware of these arrangements or did you not request them?”
“It’s just I’ve never had a bodyguard.” Her voice sounded strained and troubled, and tears pooled in her eyes. “Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. If someone killed me tomorrow, no one would care.”
“I would care,” Aiden said without hesitation. “And I won’t let that happen.”
Heart of Stone by Amy Lee BURGESS
Being a gargoyle is easy, but it takes Brendan's love to show Deanna how to be human.
Creature of Habit by Angel LAWSON
The summer after college, Amelia Chase lands a coveted position as the personal assistant for the brilliant, yet reclusive, Grant Palmer. Grant’s aloof nature and obsessive-compulsive behavior leads Amelia to rethink her position until Grant steps in to rescue her during a bizarre kidnapping attempt. She soon realizes Grant is a man of many secrets, all hidden behind an elaborate façade of self-discipline and control.Grant Palmer spends his days in an expensive suit and tie, funding charitable works for his family’s Foundation. His nights are reserved for patrolling the small city of Asheville and the bordering mountainside in an effort to protect residents from rogue vampires. Why? He has his own collection of kills to atone for from his own days as a rebellious, blood thirsty killer.
Amelia and Grant’s professional relationship turns personal, distracting Grant from his duties. As the number of victims rise, it becomes apparent that a predator in the hills of North Carolina has a vendetta against Grant. Aware of Grant’s increasing interest, possessing Amelia is one way for this killer to enact his twisted revenge.
[Series: Creature of Habit, #1. Published 28 September 2015, 303 pages]
Excerpt
"I know you have a secret."
My still heart plummeted to my ancient stomach, igniting a feeling of absolute dread and horror. These were the words of my deepest fears. Miles had warned me—this is what Olivia was trying to tell me. I’d gotten too close. My mouth became dry and I had to force myself to breathe in order to appear normal.
I steadied my voice. "A secret?"
The sound of her metal spoon, tracing the edge of her cup, was the only noise in the room until she said, "The signs were all there. I mean, they’re stereotypical but stereotypes are for a reason, right?"
“I’m, uh, not following.”
“Well, you’re freakishly neat and tidy. Your closet alone should have sent up a red flag.”
Okay. This was true. I had an extreme case of obsessive compulsive disorder, but that was hardly an identifiable trait of being a vampire. It was more of a personal quirk exaggerated by the vampirism. I braced myself for more.
“Obviously your body is like…killer.” Her heart beat like a hummingbird's wings and I could almost feel the heat of nervousness rolling off her body. Only this silly woman would be embarrassed as she destroyed my life. Abruptly she said, "I mean, killer. I know a lot of men who would die for your physique."
She thought I looked amazing. A smug grin crept across my face before I shook it off, wondering for the millionth time what thoughts were running though her head. I was aware women found me attractive, as it was one of the lures that made humans such susceptible prey. To hear Amelia say those words brought about a rush of feelings I wasn't used to, but was it really important to say right now?
"Your skin is flawless, unblemished. And your hair…it’s a work of art."
“My hair?”
I hated my hair. Loathed it. It was the one thing that drove me absolutely insane post transition, but that alone was nothing definitive. I mean, look at Miles. He was bald. Forever.
She stepped closer and peered at my neck and chest. “You man-scape, right?”
I shook my head silently, afraid to speak. I had no idea what this 'man-scaping' thing was but I knew I didn't have it.
"Huh," she considered and turned back to the counter, her long hair swaying a bit as she took a sip of her tea. "You probably have more clothes than Kanye West."
The uneasy knot in my stomach quickly morphed into one of confusion. Kanye West? Who?
She continued, rambling now. "Sometimes you speak like you've never been around a woman, and you never have company, and the only time you did it was a man. Who, coincidentally, was also unbelievably gorgeous."
What? I literally was unable to follow her train of thought. What man was she talking about? I searched my memory and came up with the only male visitor we'd had.
Elijah.
She stilled, palms flat on the counter. When she spoke it was low and with conviction. "Like I said, I know what you’re hiding, Grant.”
Here it comes. Images of what would come flashed in my mind. Would she run screaming? Would I have to kill her? In over a hundred years I'd never had a moment of exposure like this.
“I want you to know that I support you—no matter what.”
I waited for a beat. I waited for the earth to stop. For the fear to sink in her eyes.
“Uh, what?”
My still heart plummeted to my ancient stomach, igniting a feeling of absolute dread and horror. These were the words of my deepest fears. Miles had warned me—this is what Olivia was trying to tell me. I’d gotten too close. My mouth became dry and I had to force myself to breathe in order to appear normal.
I steadied my voice. "A secret?"
The sound of her metal spoon, tracing the edge of her cup, was the only noise in the room until she said, "The signs were all there. I mean, they’re stereotypical but stereotypes are for a reason, right?"
“I’m, uh, not following.”
“Well, you’re freakishly neat and tidy. Your closet alone should have sent up a red flag.”
Okay. This was true. I had an extreme case of obsessive compulsive disorder, but that was hardly an identifiable trait of being a vampire. It was more of a personal quirk exaggerated by the vampirism. I braced myself for more.
“Obviously your body is like…killer.” Her heart beat like a hummingbird's wings and I could almost feel the heat of nervousness rolling off her body. Only this silly woman would be embarrassed as she destroyed my life. Abruptly she said, "I mean, killer. I know a lot of men who would die for your physique."
She thought I looked amazing. A smug grin crept across my face before I shook it off, wondering for the millionth time what thoughts were running though her head. I was aware women found me attractive, as it was one of the lures that made humans such susceptible prey. To hear Amelia say those words brought about a rush of feelings I wasn't used to, but was it really important to say right now?
"Your skin is flawless, unblemished. And your hair…it’s a work of art."
“My hair?”
I hated my hair. Loathed it. It was the one thing that drove me absolutely insane post transition, but that alone was nothing definitive. I mean, look at Miles. He was bald. Forever.
She stepped closer and peered at my neck and chest. “You man-scape, right?”
I shook my head silently, afraid to speak. I had no idea what this 'man-scaping' thing was but I knew I didn't have it.
"Huh," she considered and turned back to the counter, her long hair swaying a bit as she took a sip of her tea. "You probably have more clothes than Kanye West."
The uneasy knot in my stomach quickly morphed into one of confusion. Kanye West? Who?
She continued, rambling now. "Sometimes you speak like you've never been around a woman, and you never have company, and the only time you did it was a man. Who, coincidentally, was also unbelievably gorgeous."
What? I literally was unable to follow her train of thought. What man was she talking about? I searched my memory and came up with the only male visitor we'd had.
Elijah.
She stilled, palms flat on the counter. When she spoke it was low and with conviction. "Like I said, I know what you’re hiding, Grant.”
Here it comes. Images of what would come flashed in my mind. Would she run screaming? Would I have to kill her? In over a hundred years I'd never had a moment of exposure like this.
“I want you to know that I support you—no matter what.”
I waited for a beat. I waited for the earth to stop. For the fear to sink in her eyes.
“Uh, what?”
One Night With A Vampire by Rozlyn SPARKS
Sometimes the only way to forget the pain of a broken heart is to get back in the saddle. At least that is how Daphne’s friends see it. And since Daphne isn’t showing any signs of letting that happen, they take it into their own hands.Blindfolded, Daphne is whisked away to the famed, House of Immortal Pleasures, a vampire-run Brothel in Pahrump, Nevada, for a night of fun to exorcise her demons of boyfriends gone bad..
[Published 21 September 2014, 91 pages]
Hounded by Tasha BLACK
This dog is about to have his day…Dulcie Alette is an empath, with a soft spot for bad boys and a knack for solving mysteries. So when dog-shifter Van Blanco, a drop-dead gorgeous fighter with a checkered past, rolls into town, Dulcie is over the moon. Until she gets involved with a mysterious murder, and Van turns out to be the number one suspect.
Can she keep her passions in check long enough to solve the case and prove his innocence, or will Van turn out to be more of a bad boy than she could have ever imagined?
Find out in this steamy, modern take on the classic Sherlock Holmes Mystery, The Hound of the Baskervilles.
[Published 15 November 2015, 159 pages]
Excerpt
Van smiled to himself when he heard Dulcie’s light footsteps approach.
She had to know that the real reason he came in all the time was to see her.
From their first meeting when he’d stormed in, feeling angry and defensive before he’d even opened his mouth, the mere sight of Dulcie had soothed him. Her soft dark hair, her sweet smile, the gentle curves of her body, they all seemed to have been created to absorb his hard angles.
And she was funny.
The world of shifters could be sexy, intense, scary… But there wasn’t a lot of light-heartedness in Van’s past.
Dulcie’s first dry comment didn’t even land on him because he wasn’t expecting it.
But the goofy grin that followed filled him with surprised delight. He didn’t laugh, but it made his chest lighten.
And then, looking down in embarrassment at the joke she thought had failed, she’d taken a sip of her drink.
Her pouty lips parted. The tip of her tongue sucked the straw into her mouth, her eyes closed in ecstasy.
And he was lost.
She had to know that the real reason he came in all the time was to see her.
From their first meeting when he’d stormed in, feeling angry and defensive before he’d even opened his mouth, the mere sight of Dulcie had soothed him. Her soft dark hair, her sweet smile, the gentle curves of her body, they all seemed to have been created to absorb his hard angles.
And she was funny.
The world of shifters could be sexy, intense, scary… But there wasn’t a lot of light-heartedness in Van’s past.
Dulcie’s first dry comment didn’t even land on him because he wasn’t expecting it.
But the goofy grin that followed filled him with surprised delight. He didn’t laugh, but it made his chest lighten.
And then, looking down in embarrassment at the joke she thought had failed, she’d taken a sip of her drink.
Her pouty lips parted. The tip of her tongue sucked the straw into her mouth, her eyes closed in ecstasy.
And he was lost.
Beast by Kim FAULKS
Beast, A Dark Werewolf Fairytale RomanceTrapped in a nightmare filled with lust and betrayal, there’s a beast and he’s waiting for her.
“Don’t bother. It’s locked. There’s no way out of here. Even if you did get out, we’re surrounded by the forest. Please, don’t run, Belle. Don’t make me set the dogs free.”
The drug on my lips linger, and the memory of my freedom slips further away while he drones. I thought I was free, hitchhiking along the Midnight Mountain Range, running from those I loved, and their betrayal. Now I’m trapped in a nightmare. One filled with betrayal, lust and a beast. That’s his story, about a beast that’s waiting for me. I try not to listen and plan my escape. But the savage howls from somewhere underneath this room makes me whimper in fear. Through the grimy windows, endless pine trees are all I can see.
“He’s going to fall in love with you, I just know he will,” Mark says. The beast below isn’t the only one in this house. I’ve fought to survive before and I’ll fight again. Maybe this time, I’ll win.
[Series: Submissively Ever After , #1. Published 2 July 2015, 106 pages]
Excerpt
My arms and legs still felt heavy, but fear made me move. I slid from the bed, keeping one eye on my captor. My feet hit the wooden floor. The room was small and dirty. Thin strips of peeling paint hung from the ceiling overhead. I stumbled to the window.
The derelict room was made colder by the crowding trees and bleak winter sky. White wisps of fog lingered, forcing me to squint to see towering trunks which hemmed me in. Behind me, Mark kept talking in soothing tones that reminded me of my therapist. I gripped the chipped window frame and pushed my body against the glass, straining to see as far left as I could. A waving green ocean of pine needles was all I could see. I wrenched my head to the right. There had to be a way out somehow.
Mark's droning voice dragged me into the room. I couldn't take anymore. I couldn't stand the noise. "Shut up. Why can't you just shut up?"
I wasn't that girl who cried, or played dumb, leaving others to pave their way in this world. I was the loner, the soldier. I was the survivor. But as the green sea wavered outside the window, I realized I was none of those things now.
I was a captive.
I squeezed my eyes closed and tried to think. Midnight Mountain Range was the last thing I remember. I could be further east, or south. Think, dammit.
How long had I been out?
My breath fogged the dirty window as hopelessness circled like a predator. "If you let me go, I won't say anything. I won't go to the police. I won't say a word to anyone, I swear."
The beating of my heart was too fast. Still I waited for an answer. Please. Please let me go. I left the wintery view and turned back to my cage, to the dust covered floor and the stained, striped mattress.
"Please, Belle. The story is important."
I swiped my eyes with my thumb, feeling the slick tears glide away. I couldn't breathe in this damn dress. I couldn't think. I yanked the material and reached for the collar.
"You look so beautiful standing there, you know? Your scowl matches your dress. The moon and the night, that's what you remind me of. Haunting, filled with mystery. He's going to fall in love with you, I just know he will."
"He?"
Mark never answered. Mark. If that even was his name. His full red lips were those of an angel, or a seductive devil. He reached to pat the filthy mattress. "Belle. The story."
I glanced toward the door, eying the pitted knob.
"Don't bother. It's locked. There's no way out of here. Even if you did get out, we're surrounded by the forest. Please, don't run, Belle. Don't make me set the dogs free."
The derelict room was made colder by the crowding trees and bleak winter sky. White wisps of fog lingered, forcing me to squint to see towering trunks which hemmed me in. Behind me, Mark kept talking in soothing tones that reminded me of my therapist. I gripped the chipped window frame and pushed my body against the glass, straining to see as far left as I could. A waving green ocean of pine needles was all I could see. I wrenched my head to the right. There had to be a way out somehow.
Mark's droning voice dragged me into the room. I couldn't take anymore. I couldn't stand the noise. "Shut up. Why can't you just shut up?"
I wasn't that girl who cried, or played dumb, leaving others to pave their way in this world. I was the loner, the soldier. I was the survivor. But as the green sea wavered outside the window, I realized I was none of those things now.
I was a captive.
I squeezed my eyes closed and tried to think. Midnight Mountain Range was the last thing I remember. I could be further east, or south. Think, dammit.
How long had I been out?
My breath fogged the dirty window as hopelessness circled like a predator. "If you let me go, I won't say anything. I won't go to the police. I won't say a word to anyone, I swear."
The beating of my heart was too fast. Still I waited for an answer. Please. Please let me go. I left the wintery view and turned back to my cage, to the dust covered floor and the stained, striped mattress.
"Please, Belle. The story is important."
I swiped my eyes with my thumb, feeling the slick tears glide away. I couldn't breathe in this damn dress. I couldn't think. I yanked the material and reached for the collar.
"You look so beautiful standing there, you know? Your scowl matches your dress. The moon and the night, that's what you remind me of. Haunting, filled with mystery. He's going to fall in love with you, I just know he will."
"He?"
Mark never answered. Mark. If that even was his name. His full red lips were those of an angel, or a seductive devil. He reached to pat the filthy mattress. "Belle. The story."
I glanced toward the door, eying the pitted knob.
"Don't bother. It's locked. There's no way out of here. Even if you did get out, we're surrounded by the forest. Please, don't run, Belle. Don't make me set the dogs free."
Inkubus by Katie DE LONG
For millennia, Cole's kind, the incubi, have manifested in human thoughts and sensuality to impregnate human women: survival by deceit. Every name assigned by their elders, and every encounter their target's darkest fantasies- never for love or friendship. But when Cole is assigned to work a woman struggling with schizophrenia, whose perceptions shatter the limitations of his own, he can't help but fall hard and fast.Tabitha is used to disruptive visions, but when one of her hallucinations tries to befriend her, she must discover what's real, for her own sanity and future. Cole is disturbingly convincing, but has no place in the reality she knows.
Their love shouldn't exist, not according to Cole's elders, and not according to Tabby's psychiatrist. When the answers they find doesn't match the truths the world has offered them, what will they choose?
[Published 27 October 2015, 173 pages]
The Witches of Dark Root by April AASHEIM
Deep in the forests of the Pacific Northwest is a small village called Dark Root, a town steeped in magic, mystery, and secrets. But for Maggie Maddock, Dark Root is also a prison - a place where she is forced to work in her mother's Magick Shoppe while the rest of the world moves forward without her.When a mysterious stranger offers to take Maggie away from it all, she leaves without looking back. Seven years later, Maggie is called home by her beloved older sister. There she is confronted with a renewed sibling rivalry, a mother suffering under a mysterious illness, and a town that's lost it's literal magic. Now Maggie must decide if she will use her newfound abilities to aid those she loves or run from her responsibilities once again.
In the tradition of Alice Hoffman's Practical Magic and Rebecca Wells' Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood, The Witches of Magic seamlessly weaves the past with the present, the magical with the mundane. It is a tale of family, forgiveness, and the healing power of love that will leave readers believing in magic long after the story ends.
[Series: Daughters of Dark Root, #1. Published 31 May 2013, 363 pages]
Excerpt
Prologue: Magic Man
Miss Sasha’s Magick Shoppe, Dark Root, Oregon
February, 2005
The shop was cold and dimly lit, musty and confining.
A spider web had attached itself to the archway that separated the main room from the back and I ducked each time I passed beneath it, not bothering to sweep it down. Shelves lined every wall of Mother’s Magick shop, displaying the hundreds of candles, masks, figurines, and baubles that made Miss Sasha’s the most popular attraction in all of Dark Root.
While the oddities fascinated tourists, I hardly noticed them anymore as I went about my work. I hardly noticed anything anymore, except the clock that ticked down the minutes until I was released from my daily servitude.
“Excuse me,” said a woman who had been meandering near the book section for the last hour. “Where is your restroom?”
I responded by opening the front door.
She looked like she was going to protest but decided against it. My apathy for the shop was notorious. She would probably lodge a complaint with my mother instead.
“You need to order more peppermint,” my sister Eve said, emerging from the back room and sucking on a piece of candy. “We’ve been out for almost a week.”
“You order it,” I responded.
If she was going to eat the supplies, she could order them as well.
Eve launched into a series of reasons why I should perform the task––I was practically a boy and therefore, better at math, I had no social life and thus had far more time for work, etc. I was about to tell her that it wouldn’t bother me if we ran out of everything, that the whole place could implode for all I cared, when a crystal figurine on a low shelf caught my eye. It was an owl, an ugly thing with eyes that bulged and a beak that hooked. I wasn’t sure who had ordered it but I was certain it would never find a buyer.
“Bet I beat you out of this town,” I said, tapping its beak.
A losing bet, I realized. It had wings. I didn’t even have a car.
I checked the clock again––five minutes ‘til closing time––and glanced around the shop. It wasn’t as clean as my mother would have wanted, but then again my mother wasn’t here.
“I say we call it done,” I said, tossing my apron on the counter.
“Maggie, come take a look.”
Eve stood by the window. Her fingers twitched as she pointed to a man I had never seen before, seated by the window in Delilah’s Deli across the street.
“Who is he?” she asked. “I don’t recognize him.”
I moved to get a better view, nudging her out of the way. “Well, he isn’t from around here.”
Eve clucked her tongue. Of course, he wasn’t from around here. His sophisticated clothing identified him as a city person, not a man who spent much time slinking around a small town in Central Oregon.
“He’s handsome,” she said and I silently agreed. Though it was getting dark I could still make out his thick mane of wavy brown hair and the strong line of his jaw. He was leaning forward, talking to a gaunt young man who hung on his every word.
“We have to find out what he’s doing here,” Eve said. “It’s just not natural.” Though the town festered with tourists during the fall months when we held the Haunted Dark Root Festival, it was rare to see anyone arrive after November and before May.
“Probably just passing through on his way to Salem or Portland. Blew out a tire or had to use the bathroom.”
“You have no imagination.”
Eve chattered on about how he was probably a famous Hollywood producer. She couldn’t allow anyone a normal life; she always reached for the dramatic.
But she was right. There was something special about the stranger. He had an energy that popped and sparkled.
As if he knew he was being watched, he turned in our direction. Eve ducked but I held my position, staring back. His eyes were as grey and stormy as the Oregon coastline. He knew things...secrets and mysteries.
I felt jolted awake after a long sleep.
“We should bring him over.” Eve’s dark eyes flashed as she pushed a step-stool across the floor to gather oils and vials from the top shelf. Next, she collected an assortment of herbs from bins beneath the counter. “...Candles. I need purple candles.”
Like a fly to a spider, I thought as I watched her. She was driven when she had a mission, not the same dreamy girl who stared out the window all day talking about the life she was missing out on while she ignored customers.
“We could just walk across the street and talk to him,” I said, moving away from the window.
“Just because you’re too good for magic, doesn’t mean some of us don’t respect the craft.”
“I never said I was against magic.”
“Just practicing it. We can’t all be Wilders, you know?” Eve placed her stack onto the counter and arranged the objects into neat piles.
I felt my face redden. Wilder was a slang word, used to describe a witch who had no control over her magic. The light above us flickered.
Besides,” Eve grinned, as if she had said nothing wrong. “This is far more fun. Now, where’s the book?” She scanned the room for our mother’s spell book.
I shrugged. If she wanted to lure a man here against his will that was her business, but I wasn’t going to help.
“Here it is!” She held up a small, leather-bound journal in her hands. It was a rare book, Mother claimed, filled with spells and incantations that would have been lost to time were they not carefully preserved on these pages. As a result, only Mother’s direct descendants could remove the book from her store without suffering a terrible curse.
What the curse was, nobody knew, but Miss Sasha’s magick was formidable, and no one in Dark Root wanted to risk it.
Eve went to work creating a concoction of vanilla, rose petals and thyme, hardly glancing at the open book beside her. She had probably committed her man-luring spell to heart.
“Wouldn’t it be exciting if we fell in love and he took me away from this horrible town? Now that Merry is gone, there’s nothing to keep me here.”
I felt a dagger in my heart at the mention of our older sister’s name. Merry had left three years ago to marry some guy she barely knew and nothing had been the same since.
“You really think you’re going to get out of here before me?” I asked.
“Someone’s got to take care of Mom. Besides,” Eve looked at the clock on the far wall then back to me, “I have to get out of here. I’m going to be a famous actress one day. A psychic told me.”
I snorted, peeking out the window again. The curtains to Delilah’s Deli were shut now, indicating that the cafe was closed. I glanced up and down the street, hoping to see a sign of him or his car, but the street was empty. “Even if your spell does work and you get him to wander over here, what makes you think he’s going to fall in love with you?”
“The travel spell is only part of it,” she said. “One sip of my special tea and he’ll treat me like the goddess I am.” Eve retreated into the back room, returning with a white porcelain cup and matching teapot. “You might not have dreams, Maggie, but I do. God forbid that three years from now when I’m your age, I’m still working as a sales girl in this dump.” She dropped her apron on the floor and kicked it under the counter.
Without warning the door opened, startling us both.
The stranger entered, removing his grey felt hat. He looked around the shop, taking it in. I glanced at Eve, wondering how her travel spell could have worked so quickly.
She shrugged in response.
“Well, hello there,” she said, regaining her composure “Our shop is closed but we were just making tea. You are welcome to join us.” She slinked towards the man, offering him the teacup.
The stranger blinked uncertainly, declining the tea with a wave of his hand. He strode past my sister and stood before me.
“Actually,” he said, staring at me with mystical eyes. “Maggie Maddock, I’m here for you.”
Miss Sasha’s Magick Shoppe, Dark Root, Oregon
February, 2005
The shop was cold and dimly lit, musty and confining.
A spider web had attached itself to the archway that separated the main room from the back and I ducked each time I passed beneath it, not bothering to sweep it down. Shelves lined every wall of Mother’s Magick shop, displaying the hundreds of candles, masks, figurines, and baubles that made Miss Sasha’s the most popular attraction in all of Dark Root.
While the oddities fascinated tourists, I hardly noticed them anymore as I went about my work. I hardly noticed anything anymore, except the clock that ticked down the minutes until I was released from my daily servitude.
“Excuse me,” said a woman who had been meandering near the book section for the last hour. “Where is your restroom?”
I responded by opening the front door.
She looked like she was going to protest but decided against it. My apathy for the shop was notorious. She would probably lodge a complaint with my mother instead.
“You need to order more peppermint,” my sister Eve said, emerging from the back room and sucking on a piece of candy. “We’ve been out for almost a week.”
“You order it,” I responded.
If she was going to eat the supplies, she could order them as well.
Eve launched into a series of reasons why I should perform the task––I was practically a boy and therefore, better at math, I had no social life and thus had far more time for work, etc. I was about to tell her that it wouldn’t bother me if we ran out of everything, that the whole place could implode for all I cared, when a crystal figurine on a low shelf caught my eye. It was an owl, an ugly thing with eyes that bulged and a beak that hooked. I wasn’t sure who had ordered it but I was certain it would never find a buyer.
“Bet I beat you out of this town,” I said, tapping its beak.
A losing bet, I realized. It had wings. I didn’t even have a car.
I checked the clock again––five minutes ‘til closing time––and glanced around the shop. It wasn’t as clean as my mother would have wanted, but then again my mother wasn’t here.
“I say we call it done,” I said, tossing my apron on the counter.
“Maggie, come take a look.”
Eve stood by the window. Her fingers twitched as she pointed to a man I had never seen before, seated by the window in Delilah’s Deli across the street.
“Who is he?” she asked. “I don’t recognize him.”
I moved to get a better view, nudging her out of the way. “Well, he isn’t from around here.”
Eve clucked her tongue. Of course, he wasn’t from around here. His sophisticated clothing identified him as a city person, not a man who spent much time slinking around a small town in Central Oregon.
“He’s handsome,” she said and I silently agreed. Though it was getting dark I could still make out his thick mane of wavy brown hair and the strong line of his jaw. He was leaning forward, talking to a gaunt young man who hung on his every word.
“We have to find out what he’s doing here,” Eve said. “It’s just not natural.” Though the town festered with tourists during the fall months when we held the Haunted Dark Root Festival, it was rare to see anyone arrive after November and before May.
“Probably just passing through on his way to Salem or Portland. Blew out a tire or had to use the bathroom.”
“You have no imagination.”
Eve chattered on about how he was probably a famous Hollywood producer. She couldn’t allow anyone a normal life; she always reached for the dramatic.
But she was right. There was something special about the stranger. He had an energy that popped and sparkled.
As if he knew he was being watched, he turned in our direction. Eve ducked but I held my position, staring back. His eyes were as grey and stormy as the Oregon coastline. He knew things...secrets and mysteries.
I felt jolted awake after a long sleep.
“We should bring him over.” Eve’s dark eyes flashed as she pushed a step-stool across the floor to gather oils and vials from the top shelf. Next, she collected an assortment of herbs from bins beneath the counter. “...Candles. I need purple candles.”
Like a fly to a spider, I thought as I watched her. She was driven when she had a mission, not the same dreamy girl who stared out the window all day talking about the life she was missing out on while she ignored customers.
“We could just walk across the street and talk to him,” I said, moving away from the window.
“Just because you’re too good for magic, doesn’t mean some of us don’t respect the craft.”
“I never said I was against magic.”
“Just practicing it. We can’t all be Wilders, you know?” Eve placed her stack onto the counter and arranged the objects into neat piles.
I felt my face redden. Wilder was a slang word, used to describe a witch who had no control over her magic. The light above us flickered.
Besides,” Eve grinned, as if she had said nothing wrong. “This is far more fun. Now, where’s the book?” She scanned the room for our mother’s spell book.
I shrugged. If she wanted to lure a man here against his will that was her business, but I wasn’t going to help.
“Here it is!” She held up a small, leather-bound journal in her hands. It was a rare book, Mother claimed, filled with spells and incantations that would have been lost to time were they not carefully preserved on these pages. As a result, only Mother’s direct descendants could remove the book from her store without suffering a terrible curse.
What the curse was, nobody knew, but Miss Sasha’s magick was formidable, and no one in Dark Root wanted to risk it.
Eve went to work creating a concoction of vanilla, rose petals and thyme, hardly glancing at the open book beside her. She had probably committed her man-luring spell to heart.
“Wouldn’t it be exciting if we fell in love and he took me away from this horrible town? Now that Merry is gone, there’s nothing to keep me here.”
I felt a dagger in my heart at the mention of our older sister’s name. Merry had left three years ago to marry some guy she barely knew and nothing had been the same since.
“You really think you’re going to get out of here before me?” I asked.
“Someone’s got to take care of Mom. Besides,” Eve looked at the clock on the far wall then back to me, “I have to get out of here. I’m going to be a famous actress one day. A psychic told me.”
I snorted, peeking out the window again. The curtains to Delilah’s Deli were shut now, indicating that the cafe was closed. I glanced up and down the street, hoping to see a sign of him or his car, but the street was empty. “Even if your spell does work and you get him to wander over here, what makes you think he’s going to fall in love with you?”
“The travel spell is only part of it,” she said. “One sip of my special tea and he’ll treat me like the goddess I am.” Eve retreated into the back room, returning with a white porcelain cup and matching teapot. “You might not have dreams, Maggie, but I do. God forbid that three years from now when I’m your age, I’m still working as a sales girl in this dump.” She dropped her apron on the floor and kicked it under the counter.
Without warning the door opened, startling us both.
The stranger entered, removing his grey felt hat. He looked around the shop, taking it in. I glanced at Eve, wondering how her travel spell could have worked so quickly.
She shrugged in response.
“Well, hello there,” she said, regaining her composure “Our shop is closed but we were just making tea. You are welcome to join us.” She slinked towards the man, offering him the teacup.
The stranger blinked uncertainly, declining the tea with a wave of his hand. He strode past my sister and stood before me.
“Actually,” he said, staring at me with mystical eyes. “Maggie Maddock, I’m here for you.”
Just a Little Nudge by Jesi Lea RYAN
Marley Sexton never aspired to be a stripper. She even chose the stage name Misty Showers as a joke, thinking she’d make a few quick bucks and move on to greener pastures. Three years later, Marley’s still stripping. It’s the only job she can land that will put a dent in her mother’s mounting medical bills. It’s also the only job where she feels justified parting fools from their money with a little talent she calls nudging. As psychic powers go, nudging isn’t impressive. Marley can’t get people to do anything they’re not already inclined to do. Useful for making a seedy customer grab a larger bill from his wallet, but not strong enough to ditch a drug cartel that’s on her tail. Marley is in over her head. She’s not big on trusting people, especially a strange man with a gun, a badge, and a story that doesn’t quite add up. JC Moreno figures out that Marley may have taken the nudge a little too far. But how? Whoever the guy actually works for, one thing’s for certain. He has a history with the cartel and an agenda of his own. Although the suspicion between Marley and JC runs both ways, maybe they can work together to both get what they want…if they don’t get killed in the process.[Published 17 February 2015, 129 pages]
Axiom by Rainy KAYE
Fifteen year old Dimitri's life changes when his father is murdered, causing him to inherit a family curse. Now he's left at the mercy of rules he doesn't understand and the sinister side of people he thought he knew.Forced to commit crimes that increase in severity, Dimitri struggles to find his place in a world where he doesn't exist.
AXIOM is a 15,000 word companion novella for readers of the SUMMONED series, following Dimitri's descent into the genie-bond.
[Published 11 November 2014, 41 pages]
Fire: The Elementals Book One by L.B. GILBERT
Invested with the powers of Mother Nature, four women have been charged with the almost impossible task of maintaining order in the supernatural world and—when the crimes are extreme—the human world as well.Diana, a fire Elemental, is almost burned out. Alone in the world (save for her Elemental sisters), she takes satisfaction in punishing those who’ve strayed so far into the black they’ve disrupted the balance. But her contentment is increasingly short-lived as she struggles with the limitations of her ability. An Elemental can track murderers to the ends of the earth, but not before it’s too late for their victims.
So when a child from a previous case goes missing, Diana is determined to find her. The only problem is, she may have to take on an entire coven of vampires to do it.
[Series: The Elementals, #1. Published 24 October 2015, 327 pages]
Excerpt
Diana had Daniel drive them to the safe house so she could change. She was no longer concerned with Alec knowing the location. After pulling on clean cargo pants, she joined him in the living room to search for her boots while he wandered around, checking out the various knick-knacks and weapons displayed. He’d already been through all the swords and crossbows in the gym and had even tested one of the maces.
He was fingering a fourteenth century Japanese Koto when she finally found her left boot.
He turned to her, shock lining his features. “This is from the Kamakura period. It’s spectacular. And priceless in certain circles.”
“Yeah, I know,” Diana said with genuine nonchalance, bending down to tie her shoelace.
“But this thing is not only for display. You. . .you’ve been using it.”
“It’s a weapon,” she said dryly. “It’s common for a soldier to train with a variety of them.”
Alec stared, mouth slightly open. “It’s worth thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of dollars. I can’t believe you practice with this as if it’s any old sword,” he said, taking it in hand and turning to display it to her, as though he was trying to make her see it clearly.
Suppressing a smile, Diana took the sword from him and put it back in its holder. “All of the weapons you see here are used. We train with them throughout our lives. We have to be ready to use whatever comes to hand. It all depends on the situation. We hone our skills with these as well as our Elemental abilities. Sometimes it’s better not to have to start a fire.”
“But this sword,” he said pointing, “it’s meant to be used from horseback.”
“I know that,” Diana said with a laugh.
“You’ve trained with it on horseback?”
“Well, actually, I used my bike most of the time.” She turned to grab her jacket. “Horses don’t like fire.”
“And the other times?”
She paused. “Well, you remember the lion?”
Alec stopped short. “You can ride your element like a. . .a. . .”
“Yes,” she said pointedly, cutting him off before the mental imagery became too colorful.
He was fingering a fourteenth century Japanese Koto when she finally found her left boot.
He turned to her, shock lining his features. “This is from the Kamakura period. It’s spectacular. And priceless in certain circles.”
“Yeah, I know,” Diana said with genuine nonchalance, bending down to tie her shoelace.
“But this thing is not only for display. You. . .you’ve been using it.”
“It’s a weapon,” she said dryly. “It’s common for a soldier to train with a variety of them.”
Alec stared, mouth slightly open. “It’s worth thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of dollars. I can’t believe you practice with this as if it’s any old sword,” he said, taking it in hand and turning to display it to her, as though he was trying to make her see it clearly.
Suppressing a smile, Diana took the sword from him and put it back in its holder. “All of the weapons you see here are used. We train with them throughout our lives. We have to be ready to use whatever comes to hand. It all depends on the situation. We hone our skills with these as well as our Elemental abilities. Sometimes it’s better not to have to start a fire.”
“But this sword,” he said pointing, “it’s meant to be used from horseback.”
“I know that,” Diana said with a laugh.
“You’ve trained with it on horseback?”
“Well, actually, I used my bike most of the time.” She turned to grab her jacket. “Horses don’t like fire.”
“And the other times?”
She paused. “Well, you remember the lion?”
Alec stopped short. “You can ride your element like a. . .a. . .”
“Yes,” she said pointedly, cutting him off before the mental imagery became too colorful.
Saving Grace by J.E. TAYLOR
When CJ Ryan's girlfriend decides life is less complicated without him, CJ travels a destructive path into despair, walking the line between what's right and what feels good. But what feels good is a dangerous slope to travel, especially when Lucifer wages war for his soul.One wrong step and CJ could fall into the devil's trap, becoming no better than the demons he battles.
[Series: The Ryan Chronicles, #1. Published DATE, 237 pages]
Excerpt
Prologue: Magic Man
Miss Sasha’s Magick Shoppe, Dark Root, Oregon
February, 2005
The shop was cold and dimly lit, musty and confining.
A spider web had attached itself to the archway that separated the main room from the back and I ducked each time I passed beneath it, not bothering to sweep it down. Shelves lined every wall of Mother’s Magick shop, displaying the hundreds of candles, masks, figurines, and baubles that made Miss Sasha’s the most popular attraction in all of Dark Root.
While the oddities fascinated tourists, I hardly noticed them anymore as I went about my work. I hardly noticed anything anymore, except the clock that ticked down the minutes until I was released from my daily servitude.
“Excuse me,” said a woman who had been meandering near the book section for the last hour. “Where is your restroom?”
I responded by opening the front door.
She looked like she was going to protest but decided against it. My apathy for the shop was notorious. She would probably lodge a complaint with my mother instead.
“You need to order more peppermint,” my sister Eve said, emerging from the back room and sucking on a piece of candy. “We’ve been out for almost a week.”
“You order it,” I responded.
If she was going to eat the supplies, she could order them as well.
Eve launched into a series of reasons why I should perform the task––I was practically a boy and therefore, better at math, I had no social life and thus had far more time for work, etc. I was about to tell her that it wouldn’t bother me if we ran out of everything, that the whole place could implode for all I cared, when a crystal figurine on a low shelf caught my eye. It was an owl, an ugly thing with eyes that bulged and a beak that hooked. I wasn’t sure who had ordered it but I was certain it would never find a buyer.
“Bet I beat you out of this town,” I said, tapping its beak.
A losing bet, I realized. It had wings. I didn’t even have a car.
I checked the clock again––five minutes ‘til closing time––and glanced around the shop. It wasn’t as clean as my mother would have wanted, but then again my mother wasn’t here.
“I say we call it done,” I said, tossing my apron on the counter.
“Maggie, come take a look.”
Eve stood by the window. Her fingers twitched as she pointed to a man I had never seen before, seated by the window in Delilah’s Deli across the street.
“Who is he?” she asked. “I don’t recognize him.”
I moved to get a better view, nudging her out of the way. “Well, he isn’t from around here.”
Eve clucked her tongue. Of course, he wasn’t from around here. His sophisticated clothing identified him as a city person, not a man who spent much time slinking around a small town in Central Oregon.
“He’s handsome,” she said and I silently agreed. Though it was getting dark I could still make out his thick mane of wavy brown hair and the strong line of his jaw. He was leaning forward, talking to a gaunt young man who hung on his every word.
“We have to find out what he’s doing here,” Eve said. “It’s just not natural.” Though the town festered with tourists during the fall months when we held the Haunted Dark Root Festival, it was rare to see anyone arrive after November and before May.
“Probably just passing through on his way to Salem or Portland. Blew out a tire or had to use the bathroom.”
“You have no imagination.”
Eve chattered on about how he was probably a famous Hollywood producer. She couldn’t allow anyone a normal life; she always reached for the dramatic.
But she was right. There was something special about the stranger. He had an energy that popped and sparkled.
As if he knew he was being watched, he turned in our direction. Eve ducked but I held my position, staring back. His eyes were as grey and stormy as the Oregon coastline. He knew things...secrets and mysteries.
I felt jolted awake after a long sleep.
“We should bring him over.” Eve’s dark eyes flashed as she pushed a step-stool across the floor to gather oils and vials from the top shelf. Next, she collected an assortment of herbs from bins beneath the counter. “...Candles. I need purple candles.”
Like a fly to a spider, I thought as I watched her. She was driven when she had a mission, not the same dreamy girl who stared out the window all day talking about the life she was missing out on while she ignored customers.
“We could just walk across the street and talk to him,” I said, moving away from the window.
“Just because you’re too good for magic, doesn’t mean some of us don’t respect the craft.”
“I never said I was against magic.”
“Just practicing it. We can’t all be Wilders, you know?” Eve placed her stack onto the counter and arranged the objects into neat piles.
I felt my face redden. Wilder was a slang word, used to describe a witch who had no control over her magic. The light above us flickered.
Besides,” Eve grinned, as if she had said nothing wrong. “This is far more fun. Now, where’s the book?” She scanned the room for our mother’s spell book.
I shrugged. If she wanted to lure a man here against his will that was her business, but I wasn’t going to help.
“Here it is!” She held up a small, leather-bound journal in her hands. It was a rare book, Mother claimed, filled with spells and incantations that would have been lost to time were they not carefully preserved on these pages. As a result, only Mother’s direct descendants could remove the book from her store without suffering a terrible curse.
What the curse was, nobody knew, but Miss Sasha’s magick was formidable, and no one in Dark Root wanted to risk it.
Eve went to work creating a concoction of vanilla, rose petals and thyme, hardly glancing at the open book beside her. She had probably committed her man-luring spell to heart.
“Wouldn’t it be exciting if we fell in love and he took me away from this horrible town? Now that Merry is gone, there’s nothing to keep me here.”
I felt a dagger in my heart at the mention of our older sister’s name. Merry had left three years ago to marry some guy she barely knew and nothing had been the same since.
“You really think you’re going to get out of here before me?” I asked.
“Someone’s got to take care of Mom. Besides,” Eve looked at the clock on the far wall then back to me, “I have to get out of here. I’m going to be a famous actress one day. A psychic told me.”
I snorted, peeking out the window again. The curtains to Delilah’s Deli were shut now, indicating that the cafe was closed. I glanced up and down the street, hoping to see a sign of him or his car, but the street was empty. “Even if your spell does work and you get him to wander over here, what makes you think he’s going to fall in love with you?”
“The travel spell is only part of it,” she said. “One sip of my special tea and he’ll treat me like the goddess I am.” Eve retreated into the back room, returning with a white porcelain cup and matching teapot. “You might not have dreams, Maggie, but I do. God forbid that three years from now when I’m your age, I’m still working as a sales girl in this dump.” She dropped her apron on the floor and kicked it under the counter.
Without warning the door opened, startling us both.
The stranger entered, removing his grey felt hat. He looked around the shop, taking it in. I glanced at Eve, wondering how her travel spell could have worked so quickly.
She shrugged in response.
“Well, hello there,” she said, regaining her composure “Our shop is closed but we were just making tea. You are welcome to join us.” She slinked towards the man, offering him the teacup.
The stranger blinked uncertainly, declining the tea with a wave of his hand. He strode past my sister and stood before me.
“Actually,” he said, staring at me with mystical eyes. “Maggie Maddock, I’m here for you.”
Miss Sasha’s Magick Shoppe, Dark Root, Oregon
February, 2005
The shop was cold and dimly lit, musty and confining.
A spider web had attached itself to the archway that separated the main room from the back and I ducked each time I passed beneath it, not bothering to sweep it down. Shelves lined every wall of Mother’s Magick shop, displaying the hundreds of candles, masks, figurines, and baubles that made Miss Sasha’s the most popular attraction in all of Dark Root.
While the oddities fascinated tourists, I hardly noticed them anymore as I went about my work. I hardly noticed anything anymore, except the clock that ticked down the minutes until I was released from my daily servitude.
“Excuse me,” said a woman who had been meandering near the book section for the last hour. “Where is your restroom?”
I responded by opening the front door.
She looked like she was going to protest but decided against it. My apathy for the shop was notorious. She would probably lodge a complaint with my mother instead.
“You need to order more peppermint,” my sister Eve said, emerging from the back room and sucking on a piece of candy. “We’ve been out for almost a week.”
“You order it,” I responded.
If she was going to eat the supplies, she could order them as well.
Eve launched into a series of reasons why I should perform the task––I was practically a boy and therefore, better at math, I had no social life and thus had far more time for work, etc. I was about to tell her that it wouldn’t bother me if we ran out of everything, that the whole place could implode for all I cared, when a crystal figurine on a low shelf caught my eye. It was an owl, an ugly thing with eyes that bulged and a beak that hooked. I wasn’t sure who had ordered it but I was certain it would never find a buyer.
“Bet I beat you out of this town,” I said, tapping its beak.
A losing bet, I realized. It had wings. I didn’t even have a car.
I checked the clock again––five minutes ‘til closing time––and glanced around the shop. It wasn’t as clean as my mother would have wanted, but then again my mother wasn’t here.
“I say we call it done,” I said, tossing my apron on the counter.
“Maggie, come take a look.”
Eve stood by the window. Her fingers twitched as she pointed to a man I had never seen before, seated by the window in Delilah’s Deli across the street.
“Who is he?” she asked. “I don’t recognize him.”
I moved to get a better view, nudging her out of the way. “Well, he isn’t from around here.”
Eve clucked her tongue. Of course, he wasn’t from around here. His sophisticated clothing identified him as a city person, not a man who spent much time slinking around a small town in Central Oregon.
“He’s handsome,” she said and I silently agreed. Though it was getting dark I could still make out his thick mane of wavy brown hair and the strong line of his jaw. He was leaning forward, talking to a gaunt young man who hung on his every word.
“We have to find out what he’s doing here,” Eve said. “It’s just not natural.” Though the town festered with tourists during the fall months when we held the Haunted Dark Root Festival, it was rare to see anyone arrive after November and before May.
“Probably just passing through on his way to Salem or Portland. Blew out a tire or had to use the bathroom.”
“You have no imagination.”
Eve chattered on about how he was probably a famous Hollywood producer. She couldn’t allow anyone a normal life; she always reached for the dramatic.
But she was right. There was something special about the stranger. He had an energy that popped and sparkled.
As if he knew he was being watched, he turned in our direction. Eve ducked but I held my position, staring back. His eyes were as grey and stormy as the Oregon coastline. He knew things...secrets and mysteries.
I felt jolted awake after a long sleep.
“We should bring him over.” Eve’s dark eyes flashed as she pushed a step-stool across the floor to gather oils and vials from the top shelf. Next, she collected an assortment of herbs from bins beneath the counter. “...Candles. I need purple candles.”
Like a fly to a spider, I thought as I watched her. She was driven when she had a mission, not the same dreamy girl who stared out the window all day talking about the life she was missing out on while she ignored customers.
“We could just walk across the street and talk to him,” I said, moving away from the window.
“Just because you’re too good for magic, doesn’t mean some of us don’t respect the craft.”
“I never said I was against magic.”
“Just practicing it. We can’t all be Wilders, you know?” Eve placed her stack onto the counter and arranged the objects into neat piles.
I felt my face redden. Wilder was a slang word, used to describe a witch who had no control over her magic. The light above us flickered.
Besides,” Eve grinned, as if she had said nothing wrong. “This is far more fun. Now, where’s the book?” She scanned the room for our mother’s spell book.
I shrugged. If she wanted to lure a man here against his will that was her business, but I wasn’t going to help.
“Here it is!” She held up a small, leather-bound journal in her hands. It was a rare book, Mother claimed, filled with spells and incantations that would have been lost to time were they not carefully preserved on these pages. As a result, only Mother’s direct descendants could remove the book from her store without suffering a terrible curse.
What the curse was, nobody knew, but Miss Sasha’s magick was formidable, and no one in Dark Root wanted to risk it.
Eve went to work creating a concoction of vanilla, rose petals and thyme, hardly glancing at the open book beside her. She had probably committed her man-luring spell to heart.
“Wouldn’t it be exciting if we fell in love and he took me away from this horrible town? Now that Merry is gone, there’s nothing to keep me here.”
I felt a dagger in my heart at the mention of our older sister’s name. Merry had left three years ago to marry some guy she barely knew and nothing had been the same since.
“You really think you’re going to get out of here before me?” I asked.
“Someone’s got to take care of Mom. Besides,” Eve looked at the clock on the far wall then back to me, “I have to get out of here. I’m going to be a famous actress one day. A psychic told me.”
I snorted, peeking out the window again. The curtains to Delilah’s Deli were shut now, indicating that the cafe was closed. I glanced up and down the street, hoping to see a sign of him or his car, but the street was empty. “Even if your spell does work and you get him to wander over here, what makes you think he’s going to fall in love with you?”
“The travel spell is only part of it,” she said. “One sip of my special tea and he’ll treat me like the goddess I am.” Eve retreated into the back room, returning with a white porcelain cup and matching teapot. “You might not have dreams, Maggie, but I do. God forbid that three years from now when I’m your age, I’m still working as a sales girl in this dump.” She dropped her apron on the floor and kicked it under the counter.
Without warning the door opened, startling us both.
The stranger entered, removing his grey felt hat. He looked around the shop, taking it in. I glanced at Eve, wondering how her travel spell could have worked so quickly.
She shrugged in response.
“Well, hello there,” she said, regaining her composure “Our shop is closed but we were just making tea. You are welcome to join us.” She slinked towards the man, offering him the teacup.
The stranger blinked uncertainly, declining the tea with a wave of his hand. He strode past my sister and stood before me.
“Actually,” he said, staring at me with mystical eyes. “Maggie Maddock, I’m here for you.”
Jaguar at the Portal by Aimee EASTERLING
Ixchel is a lonely veterinarian fleeing from her past. Finn is a were-jaguar hunting for his future.It starts as a classic case of boy-meets-girl, boy-holds-girl-up-at-knife-point, boy-and-girl-fall-in-love. But what should be a honeymoon-like jaunt through the ruins of pre-Columbian Mexico turns into an action-packed chase through moonlit forests and across crumbling pyramids.
In the end, each member of the unlikely pair must make a decision that will change their lives forever. And if the two don't learn to work together, they'll soon lose the game that has turned into a struggle for survival.
[Published 12 July 2015, 284 pages]
Playlist for The Witch Who Cried Wolf
Music plays a big role in helping to spark my creativity while I write. That was definitely true for The Witch Who Cried Wolf. Here’s a sampling of the music I listened to while writing the first installment in the Cry Wolf series!Sarah Makela
Happily Ever Alpha
Available NOW! ONLY .99!
UK: 
US:
About the Authors
JC ANDRIJESKI | April AASHEIM | Michele BARDSLEY | Tasha BLACK | Amy Lee BURGESS | Katie DE LONG | Aimee EASTERLING | Kim FAULKS | Sylvia FROST | L.B. GILBERT | Rebecca HAMILTON | Steffanie HOLMES | Rainy KAYE | Ambrielle KIRK | Conner KRESSLEY | Angel LAWSON | Sarah MAKELA | Alexia PURDY | Jesi Lea RYAN | Rozlyn SPARKS | J.E. TAYLOR | Elle THORNE |
JC Andrijeski is a USA TODAY bestselling author who writes sexy, apocalyptic and cyberpunk-y science fiction romance and mystery books, often with a metaphysical bent. Current works include the gritty, epic, psychic warfare romance, ALLIE'S WAR, which follows Allie Taylor and her antihero partner, Revik, in their attempts to save the world from a dark, psychic force. Her dystopian science fiction romance series, ALIEN APOCALYPSE, features Jet Tetsuo, survivor and slave under alien conquerors, and her GATE SHIFTER series is about a shape-shifting alien and a tough-girl PI from Seattle. Her newest launch is QUENTIN BLACK, a science fiction romance and mystery series that’s a spin-off from Allie’s War but set in our own version of Earth.JC has a background in journalism, history and politics, travels extensively and has lived abroad in Europe, Australia and Asia, and from coast to coast in the continental United States. She currently lives in Bangkok, Thailand.
To learn more about her and her writing, please visit http:jcandrijeski.com. For more about the Allie's War series, visit http://allieswarseries.com
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April Aasheim spent her childhood with her fortune-telling mother and her get-rich-quick-scheming stepfather: traveling the carnival circuit, selling products door to door, and living in an abandoned miner's shack in the Superstition Mountains of Arizona. During her travels she met many interesting people who have found their way into her novels.
Later, April went to live with her martial artist father and spent her days twirling swords and performing karate chops--skills she now only uses in her stories or on her husband when he's forgotten to take out the recycling.
When she isn't writing, April enjoys Zumba, reading, Netflix, and video games. She is also an avid collector on anything related to: psychology, sociology, the occult, and world religion.
April is also a mother to two sons and a step-parent to a beautiful girl. She also has a cat named Boots who helps her with her writing by typing when she isn't looking. All paragraphs that begin with yxoxossssssssssssgggggggggg are credited to him.
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New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Michele Bardsley lives in Texas with her husband and their fur babies. When she's not writing steamy paranormal novels about hot shifters, yummy vampires, and alpha heroes, she consumes chocolate, watches "Supernatural," crochets hats, and reads on her Kindle. Please visit Michele at www.MicheleBardsley.com or sign up for her newsletter.
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Tasha Black is a USA Today bestselling author of Paranormal and SciFi romance. She lives in a big old Victorian in a tiny college town. She loves reading anything she can get her hands on, making up stories, and sipping pumpkin spice lattes.
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Amy Lee Burgess is a transplanted New Englander living in Houston, Texas with two dogs and lots of DVDs. In an attempt to bond with the city after being forced out of New Orleans post-Katrina, she turned to her writing. Determined to finally finish that novel she'd been hacking away at since high school, Amy managed to come up with a wolf shifter character named Stanzie Newcastle. She and Stanzie have been BFFs ever since.
In addition to Stanzie, Amy has also forged a relationship with a vampire named Claire and her sexy trigger, Andre, a witch or two, and other assorted supernatural creatures she hopes will entertain her readers. No matter how many characters Amy creates, she will always have room for coffee and butterscotch squares with Stanzie and time for a nighttime stroll through London with Claire.
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Katie de Long lives in the Pacific northwest, realizing her dream of being a crazy cat-lady. As a kid, Katie flagged the fade-to-blacks in every adult book she encountered, and when she began writing, she vowed to use cutaways sparingly. After all, that's when the good stuff happens. And on a kindle, no one asks why there's so many bookmarks in her library.
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Aimee Easterling has been spoiled by four dogs, has spoiled six cats, and has largely been ignored by two guinea pigs, four turtles, a cockatiel, and a slew of fish during her thirty-some year life. Studying biology and working as a naturalist have both informed her writing, but she's quite willing to let reality slide in favor of a good story. When not writing, she loves to read and always keeps books by Robin McKinley, Patricia Briggs, and Elizabeth Peters on her shelf. She is currently hard at work writing her next novel.Follow Aimee EASTERLING:
Kim Faulks is a Aussie girl who loves stories about the underdogs and the things they've done to survive. Nothing is off limits in her books. She love writing bad guys just as much as the heroes and finding that point of no return. Kim's books are usually hot, action-packed, and always... always dark.
Read at your own risk.
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Sylvia Frost has loved stories since before she could read them, which really wasn't all that long ago. She went to school to be an opera singer, but now cobbles together a living doing a mash-up of book-cover-design, social media, and, hopefully, writing. She strives to spin fantastical fairy-tales that illuminate core truths of the human condition -- just kidding she writes about sexy Werewolves and their spit-fire mates. Lucky for her she lives her very own mate in Chicago, and he is the love of her life and sexiest alpha of all. If you've reviewed any of her books you can sign up to receive FREE copies of her upcoming books here:
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L.B. Gilbert spent years getting degrees from the most prestigious universities in America, including a PhD that she is not using at all. She moved to France for work and found love. She's married now and living in Toulouse with one adorable half-french baby.
She has always enjoyed reading books as far from her reality as possible but eventually the voices in her head told her to write her own. And so far the voices are enjoying them.
*If you like a little more steam with your Fire, check out the author's Lucy Leroux titles*
You can check out the geeky things she likes on:
Rebecca Hamilton is a USA Today Bestselling Paranormal Romance author who writes books for teens through adult. She lives in Florida with her husband and four kids and enjoys dancing with her kids to television show theme songs. Having a child diagnosed with autism has inspired her to illuminate the world through the eyes of characters who see things differently.Follow Rebecca HAMILTON:
Steffanie Holmes is the author of steamy historical and paranormal romance. Her books feature clever, witty heroines, wild shifters, cunning witches and alpha males who get what they want.
Before becoming a writer, Steffanie worked as an archaeologist and museum curator. She loves to explore historical settings and ancient conceptions of love and possession. From Dark Age Europe to crumbling gothic estates, Steffanie is fascinated with how love can blossom between the most unlikely characters.
Steffanie lives in New Zealand with her husband and a horde of cantankerous cats. Learn more about Steffanie at her website. She also writes dark science fiction under the name S C Green.
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Rainy Kaye is an aspiring overlord. In the mean time, she blogs at RainyoftheDark and writes paranormal novels from her lair somewhere in Phoenix, Arizona.
She is represented by Rossano Trentin of TZLA. Someone told her she's a USA Today Bestselling author. She thought there would be cake.
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National Bestselling author Ambrielle Kirk writes multicultural erotic romance. Her alter ego, Amber Ella Monroe, writes paranormal and fantasy stories with romantic elements. As a bestselling author in several sub-genres, she's 2012 Swirl Award winner and 2014 Romance of Novel Excellence (RONE) Award nominee in the paranormal categories. She's a PAN member of RWA, FF&P RWA, and co-founder and treasurer of CIM RWA.
She loves weaving tales where undying love is the main element. When she's not writing, she's plotting. When she's not writing or plotting, she's reading. Her reading and writing tastes varies between anything from alpha bad boys and billionaires to vampires and shifters. She's a thirty-something year old wife, mother, book hoarder, 90s music fan, earl grey tea drinker, dark roast coffee fiend, platform and stiletto shoe collector, Keurig lover, and martial arts/action movie fanatic.
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Conner Kressley is a USA TODAY Bestselling Author. He is an avid reader and all around lover of storytelling. His book "The Breaker's Code" is the first in the epic "Fixed Points" series that pits free will against fate and true love against good intentions and
bad situations.
When he's not writing about teenagers who have way too much on their plates, Conner can be found in the back roads of Georgia watching old movies, geeking out over books (comic and otherwise), and planning the next of his (some would say way too frequent) trips to Disneyworld. He also loves nature, stories where people are running for their lives, and all things "Southern".
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Angel Lawson lives with her family in Atlanta and has a lifelong obsession with creating fiction from reality, either with paint or words. On a typical day you can find her writing, reading, plotting her escape from the zombie apocalypse and trying to get the glitter out from under her nails.
She is the author of the completed Wraith Series, Serial Summer, FanGirl, and Vigilant. She is the co-author of the New Adult Paranormal book, Odin's Murder with Kira Gold.
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New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Sarah Mäkelä loves her fiction dark, magical, and passionate. She is a paranormal romance author, but she's written all over the romance spectrum with cyberpunk, sci-fi, fantasy, urban fantasy...even a sweet contemporary romance!
A life-long paranormal fan, she still sleeps with a night light. In her spare time, she reads sexy books, watches scary movies (and Ghost Adventures), and plays computer games with her husband. When she gets the chance, she loves traveling the world too.
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Alexia Purdy currently lives in Las Vegas, Nevada - Sin City! She loves to spend every free moment writing or playing with her four rambunctious kids. Writing has always been her dream and she has been writing ever since she can remember. She is the award-winning author of the Reign of Blood series and A Dark Faerie Tale Series.
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Jesi Lea Ryan grew up in the Mississippi River town of Dubuque, IA. She holds bachelor degrees in creative writing and literature and a masters degree in business. She considers herself a well-rounded nerd who can spend hours on the internet researching things like British history, anthropology of ancient people, geography of random parts of the world, bad tattoos and the paranormal. She currently lives in Madison, WI with her husband and two exceptionally naughty kitties.Follow Jesi Lea RYAN:
Rozlyn Sparks is a thirty-something lady who's been around the block a time or two. A Sin City native, she believes what happens in Vegas is fantastic inspiration for fiction! She knows the best stories are the ones that need to be shared. Give her a pen, some paper, and a Redbull and Vodka and she'll spin tales that will have you begging for more.Follow Rozlyn SPARKS:
J.E. Taylor is an award winning author, a publisher, an editor, a manuscript formatter, a mother, a wife, a business analyst, and a Supernatural fangirl, not necessarily in that order. She first sat down to seriously write in February of 2007 after her daughter asked:
"Mom, if you could do anything, what would you do?"
From that moment on, she hasn't looked back.
In addition to being co-owner of Novel Concept Publishing (www.novelconceptpublishing.com), Ms. Taylor also moonlights as a Senior Editor of Allegory (www.allegoryezine.com), an online venue for Science Fiction, Fantasy and Horror.
She lives in Connecticut with her husband and two children and during the summer months enjoys her weekends on the shore in southern Maine.
Sign up for her newsletter for early previews of her upcoming books, release announcements, and special opportunities.
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Elle Thorne spends her time writing stories about hot men, sexy women, and the stuff that happens between them. On occasion, those men and women are aliens, shifters, demons. This makes them so much hotter!Follow Elle THORNE:
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Wow. That's a lot of books for such a small cost.
ReplyDeleteMajanka @ I Heart Reading
It sure is! (and now I have updated the post so there are full details of each book that is included!!!)
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Thanks for sharing. Nicely presented too!!
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